


You Make It Hard To Let You Go

by hush_hushed



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: BM Vagabond, Fake AH Crew, GTA!verse, GTA5 - Freeform, Jack dresses like a woman heck yeah, M/M, Mad King Ryan, Mad Mercenary Ryan, Mentioned Mavin, Ray and Michael are best friends, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 62,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5821117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hush_hushed/pseuds/hush_hushed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray's a bit depressed. Michael's overprotective. Gavin is... Well, Gavin. Jack indulges in women's fashion. Geoff's loud and obnoxious (in an endearing manner). And Ryan's a sick bastard.</p><p>And a few of them are just a little bit gay as well, so.</p><p>~~~</p><p>WARNINGS: Now, there are suicidal thoughts and actions, but I don't mean to romanticize such a serious, terrible thing. Also, the other usual stuff. Swearing. Bit of violence (I mean, it is a gta!verse).<br/>Character death. Kinda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Like Black Ink in the Water

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Black Ink by Onision
> 
> ALSO- I'm someone who thoroughly enjoys brief prologues and epilogues, so do not be alarmed by how short this is- it is merely the beginning. All other chapters (excluding the last one/epilogue) will be much longer.
> 
> Thanks :)

There's a few sayings about bridges.

"Build a bridge and get over it."

Warnings about "burning bridges."

"Let it go. It's water under the bridge."

So, if you build a bridge, you have about three options. Get over it, go under it, or... Destroy it.

My choice? Well, that's where the ' _about_ three' part comes in. There are options in between each of the main three. Mine's a cross between getting over it and going under it. Most people wonder how it's possible to do both, or what the middle ground is.

Well... Go off of it. First you're over, then you're under. Then there's nothing.

Well, that's what I thought, at least.

It's supposed to peaceful. Gentle. Beautiful, even. That's all I ever wanted. To be frozen in people's memories as something worth looking at. A dark angel- not really an angel at all- falling from grace.

I didn't expect it to hurt so much. To burn so much. To be so ugly. And that's how I would have been frozen in their memories. Ashen skin, paled lips, body littered with bruises.

At least everything is painted my favorite color.

Red like roses.


	2. Just the Man on the Balcony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: From Now On We Are Enemies by Fall Out Boy

The song is called Come Back For Me, but the lyrics say "don't come back for me." It's obvious that he wants her to return. He wants to remember. He doesn't care if he "overdoses." It's obvious that he's falling in love with her, when they were supposed to be no strings attached. Maybe she's even started falling for him, too. He's trying to keep her away from it. _Whatever you do, don't come back for me. After all, I've bled for you. I can hardly breathe, and one more kiss could take my life._

"What kind of emo shit you listening to now?" A hand knocks off my headphones, making me jump and look up. My best friend, Michael, stands over my chair, an eyebrow raised at my empty stare.

I blink rapidly, chasing away stupid meanings and dumb emotions. "Jaymes Young," I answer, pausing the song and wrapping up my headphones. "You wouldn't know him."

"Apparently." He hops over the couch, landing next to me. His wild auburn curls, barely contained by his dark green beanie, bounce around his face as he turns his head to me.

"How'd you get in my house, anyways?" I ask, not particularly concerned, just startled at his sudden arrival.

"Pfft, your sliding glass doors weren't locked." I look over my shoulder, seeing that the doors- mere feet from where I sat, what the fuck- were, in fact, open. "You should really remember to close them, man, especially if you're going to zone out like that."

I roll my eyes, shaking my head. "It's not like I mean to just randomly space out. I can't control when my mind will suck me in and trap me there."

He stays silent, chewing on his lip and studying my face. The mood is suddenly serious. I knew he'd ask as soon as I knew he saw me shake out of my trance. "You hate this, I get it, but... You're okay, right?"

At least it's stated so that it hints he believes I'm okay, and is just making sure. It's better than 'you okay' and, the most common among my peers, 'you're not relapsing, are you?' Yeah, they actually have the nerve to ask something like that. That's why I'm eternally grateful for a friend like Michael.

"Yeah, I am. I wouldn't lie to you . Not again." I look down at my hands, flexing my bony fingers, lacing and unlacing them. "Before, I didn't want help, you know? And I feel stupid, knowing it took near death for me to look at what I have and think, hey, this truly means something to me."

"I feel like there was something I could have done," he admits after a short pause, his usually loud and happy energy gone. He settles further into the couch, watching me watch my hands. I hate when he blames himself. "Like, I didn't even know. There were never any signs. Nothing on your arms. No sudden drinking. Yet, there was something different. You were hiding it _too_ well. I actually thought you were happier," he scoffs, and I find his gaze gone as I look up to meet it.

"It's no one's fault. Like I said, I didn't want help. There's nothing anyone could have done to stop me. But now, if I do feel like..." I swallow, memories rising up in the back of my mind. I shove them down. Shake them gently from my head. Push on. "If I do feel like killing myself, I'm not just going to do it. I don't want to. Even if I felt like it, I still wouldn't really want to. I'd get help."

"If you didn't want help before, what makes you think-"

"Listen, Michael," I interrupt, hearing the quiver in his voice. The little shake of it that I know he hates having people hear. "I don't like saying shit like 'you don't understand,' but... I mean... Do you? I don't know if you do. Have you ever felt like taking your own life, for any reason?" It's a serious question, and not an accusatory one. It's sincere. I honestly don't know, and for a quick moment, a small panic rises in me, making my heart stutter. Thankfully, he just shakes his head slowly, still not looking at me. "Well, it doesn't always feel like you want to. It feels like you have to. I remember standing on the railing of the bridge, looking down at the water. It looked fast and cold. It was pitch black. I remember the sudden, last minute thoughts of _this is terrifying_ and _I don't want to do this_." He finally looks at me, and I lock eyes with him. "But I did. Because I had to."

"What if you have to again?"

I purse my lips, eyes flicking to the ceiling in thought. "Then... I fight. I'll call you. I'll even call Gavin if I have to. The thing is, though, I still feel like I should. I feel like-" I stop, nibbling on the inside of my cheek. I cock my head slightly. "You can't force someone to live in a world like this. Michael, we're criminals. That's our job. That _sucks_. You can't force someone to live like this, when every time they go to work, there's a chance they'll die. I don't want to die like that. That's why I did it, I think. The fact that I don't even know or remember why, it just..." I shrug helplessly, at a loss for words. _I'm scared._

"Ray, I'm not going to let you die on a job." He knocks my shoulder gently with his fist, but I don't take the bait. Realizing I'm not about to let go of this, he grips my arm instead. "We can stop, you know."

I shake my head. "I don't get myself. I don't want to die because of our job, because doing our job is what I live for. The adrenaline the fear gives me, the satisfaction of making a wicked shot, the dropping feeling of your gut when you stand among the wreckage and for some sick reason enjoy the fuck out of it. I love that. But when the high of being a badass wanes and you realize you just killed seven people, you realize... I never want to be like these poor fucks, gunned down by a stranger who was hired by someone you knew- someone you probably trusted."

"I get that. I'm sure everyone whose in the business gets that. You're good, though. Great. One of the top out there right now, alongside the Mad King and Gavin."

"How the fuck did Gavin do that."

"I don't fucking know, man. His sniping skills are top. It's bullshit. I don't get it." I give him a grin for that, and he timidly returns it. "If that fuckface hasn't been murdered yet, I am positive you won't ever be. And if I'm wrong... I'm sure I'll meet you in hell soon enough after." I raise a brow at him. "Dude, you honestly think I could get away unscathed from a heist without my lanky little sharp shooter? Nuh-uh."

I roll my eyes again, shoving him. "Whatever, dickhead. Now that our girl-to-girl, heart-to-heart, mangina-to-mangina talk is over. What time is it? Five-ish? Let's go get some pizza."

He looks down for a moment, a small, vulnerable smile on his lips. At first, I can't place the emotion I'm seeing, but then I realize it's relief. I smile, too, because being alive is good.

After the moment is over, and we step outside to get into his car- Double-O Mogar- I pause before getting in the passenger seat. Looking around my quaint little neighborhood, I take a deep breath of Los Santos air, relishing the feeling of oxygen in my lungs. Not water. Not painful, destructive water.

I jump, whacking my elbow on the car door as Michael honks the horn. I hear his high, obnoxiously loud laughter coming from inside, and as I slide in, I just shake my head at him. "You ass."

"Shut up, you love me."

~~~

I hate this. This self-pity, because of my self-loathing, which I also hate. It's just a cycle of self-oriented hate.

I stand in front of the mirror, most of my clothes on the floor, hair still wet from my shower. One hand is over my stomach, not completely touching it, just skimming it lightly.

I've been too skinny all my life. I guess it's the same as being too overweight. People think that people who are allegedly "too thin" are happy with their weight. No. Being twenty pounds underweight can make someone just as disgusted with themselves as it would if they were twenty pounds overweight. Any jab at a person's weight hurts. It doesn't matter how fat or fit someone is, there will always be people who will find something rude to say about it.

People have commented on my weight. Most of it was playful, teasing. Every once in a while, though, there'd be the odd, mean comment- just a few words- that outweigh (pun not intended) anything positive anyone has ever said to me. Let's be honest, people's brains are wired to have little to no faith in their appearance (unless they do, which is both annoying and enviable). We're bound to focus more on the bad things we hear than the good. I don't completely get why, and I don't completely think it's fair, but it's true and I accept that. I try to push past it.

There are days I look in the mirror and honestly think to myself, _hmmm, not terrible. Good job, self_. And then there are times, like now, that all I see is bony, narrow, lanky, and, well, ugly.

I don't mean to sound like some dumb teenager who wears too much eyeliner and slices up their wrists (no offense to them, just not my scene (pun totally intended)). It just comes with the whole 'Hey, I'm Human' thing.

So I put on my clothes, stop internally crying over the things I can't change about myself (trust me, I've tried, but it's a lot healthier for me to eat right and maintain this weight than eat bad and gain unhealthy weight), and I move on with my life. I go to work- my normal work- and I genuinely smile at the cute boys who want to buy- what do we sell here again, videogames?- and I go home to call and ask Michael and Gavin over.

"'Sup, bitch!"

And that's how I know Michael has arrived. He just kind of walks into my house. I guess it's my fault for leaving the doors unlocked for him. Not that he wouldn't try to pick it, blow it up, knock it down, or climb in the windows. I wince as I think of the shattered glass and kind of bloodied Michael I found in my living room one day. He seemed pretty content with the bits of my window still stuck in his fist.

He enters the aforementioned living room now, Gavin in tow. "Hey, Ray," he greets, more quiet and relaxed, but smiling excitedly despite his chill tone. He dumps a map onto my coffee table. "We brought work."

"Ughh, I just got back from GameStop, though," I whine, practically becoming one with the couch just to get away from the offensive paper.

"Oh, come on, Gav and I are pumped for this. We found possibly one of the greatest gigs in our careers, and you won't believe who's hiring us to do it," Michael gushes, plopping down next to me and spreading open the map, already littered with a basic plan written in red sharpie.

"Uhhhhh..." I wrack my brain for the big bosses of the city. I honestly don't know many of them specifically. I'd recognize them through the scope of my (pink) sniper, but their names are lost on me.

"Dude. _The Mad King_ ," he answers before I can come up with anything.

I furrow my eyebrows, confused. "The Mad King? Why the hell would he hire us? If he had shit to take care, wouldn't he take care of it himself? He's not a boss. He's someone who bosses call. He's someone who bosses _beg_ for."

Gavin's barely containing his excitement, jumping in with, "He wants our help. It's this huge mess he got himself into- with a gang. For it to be a gang war, he'd need a gang, so he kind of broke into Michael's house and waited until he got home to ask us to join him."

Michael's gaze is piercing mine from across the small table, telling me that I can back down. I don't have to do this. Instead of acknowledging his look, though, I grin at Gavin. "Sounds batshit crazy. I'm in."

As Gavin launches into excited chatter, I finally look at Michael. His expression is hard, calculating, but I merely smile at him. His features soften, realizing that I'm sure about this. _Be safe_ , he mouths to me, glancing at Gavin, but the brit is too consumed by his eager anticipation.

 _You too_ , I mouth back, smirking as I at last tune into Gavin's rambling.

"...and I think he mentioned something about Plan T, which he said may or may not stand for tank, so I say we should try our best to minge things up a bit so we can initiate that."

"We're not fucking up the plans, Gav," Michael says sternly, making the other man pout like a child. "Do you not understand? This is huge. This will bring us to the top. Bosses will be begging at our feet for business. Maybe we'll even become some epic accomplice of the Mad King. We absolutely _can not_ ruin this chance."

"Why you only yelling at me! Ray messes things up sometimes!" He squawks, offended that 'his boi' has such little faith in him. I roll my eyes.

"I already ensured he won't by taking his weed."

"Wait, what?" My eyebrows shoot up, and I shove my hand in between the couch cushions beneath me. Nothing. "You bastard."

He shrugs. "It's in the best interest of the mission. Anyways, sorry Ray, but we're all crashing here for tonight. We meet with him tomorrow. He never said where or when, just ' _Don't worry, you'll be in the right spot at the right time. Trust me._ ' And that's all. So, uh... Prepare yourselves, because I have no idea what that means."

~~~

Apparently that means being kidnapped in our sleep and waking up in a pile of Gavin-Ray-and-Michael. And of course I'm at the bottom of it, nearly suffocating from the pressure of two bodies on top of me, pressing me down into the cool floor below. Or, well, it may not be a floor, because when I look up, I realize there's no ceiling. No walls. Just a short ledge and the image of the rising sun, still so low that the only light it gives is a misty blue tint that blankets the city in an eerie morning glow.

The Mad King is nowhere in sight.

"Guys?" I mutter groggily, trying to buck them off, but my body is pinned. "Fuck." I brace my palms on the ground, squeezing my eyes shut as I try as hard as I can to push up. My arms are shaking by the time I'm only an inch off the ground, and I'm immediately crushed back down. "Yup. Nope. I'm a weakling."

"Sh'up, 'm trying to sleep," Gavin grumbles, trying to roll over, but when he finds that Michael's body (on top of his) is preventing it, he stiffens. "What?"

"Yeah, hi. If you could kindly push him off, that might help keep my ribs and spine from breaking, thanks."

"Oh, hey, Ray."

"Hey."

Gavin shoves Michael off, grunting and rolling off with him. I take in a deep breath and roll onto my back, looking up at the sky. "Thank christ," I gasp.

Michael groans. "The fuck is going on?"

"I think we're, as you said, ' _in the right spot at the right time_ ,'" I say bitterly, dragging myself to my feet. "' _Don't worry_ ,'" I add grumpily.

"I told you that you could trust me."

I look over to my right, seeing a masked figure standing on the ledge of the building, slowly traipsing along it. He pauses, stepping down and making his way over, but keeping a good deal of space between the three of us. He speaks again.

"Hi."

"Sup."

A silence. I blink at him. His mask stares back.

"....hi," Gavin says.

"Alright, this is awkward. Why are we on a roof?" Michael asks, crossing his arms.

I look around, mildly surprised to see that, yes, we are on a roof. Huh.

The Mad King shrugs. "It's a nice morning. Why not."

"Alright," Michael replies skeptically, "and why did you take us here?"

"I thought a defrieb- debriefing was in order."

A slightly awkward silence ensues, until Gavin snorts behind his hand, muttering, "You totally flubbed that word."

"I'm human. It happens."

"Yeah, but you just seem so badass, and then you come along, kidnap us, talk about the weather and stuff, and now you go and flub a word. Just... Strange that the Mad King acts like such a-" he stops himself abruptly, biting his lip.

The Mad King cocks his head. "A... What, might I ask?"

"Okay, suddenly scary again," Gavin mumbles, shuffling his foot against the floor.

I sigh heavily, wandering to the edge of the roof. "Just tell us what you need," I snap, annoyed at the bantering.

I look down at the street below as he starts, watching red and white lights move by in a blur. "There's a man I'm after."

"Just one guy?" Michael asks in disbelief. It is peculiar that he'd ask for help with one man. Unless...

"Yes, but he has a gang behind him. He stole something valuable from me, and when I tried to get it back, he had set up a trap. I fell right into it. Literally." I look over my shoulder to see him lift up his pant leg, showing a thin ankle brace. "Once this fully heals is when we go after him again. By then, we'll have met again to go over locations and set a certain plan."

I nod in approval, turning back to look at the pavement far below. The pedestrians are mere smudges from up here. Ants beneath our feet. I clear my throat, shaking my head a bit. "And, uh, what do we get in return for this?"

"Simple. Me. And with that, all the infamy, hookups, and well-paying jobs that comes with working with the Mad King."

I purse my lips, about to comment, but Michael beats me to it. "Bit cocky to offer yourself like that. Do you assume everyone thinks that's a good deal?"

"No, but everyone should think it is. Give a man a fish, he eats for a day. Take the man in and have him fish with you, feed him for forever. Or something like that. Give you guys a sum of money, you have that sum until you spend it. We join up and become the most sought after team in Los Santos, we all continuously roll in cash for as long as we don't die on the job."

My breath catches in my throat, shoulders tensing. Suddenly, the pavement is looking like a better option than this job.

"Who are you after?" My voice is quieter, more thoughtful than intended.

"A boss. Burns."

My chin drops to my chest. "Fuck," I mutter, blinking hard. " _Fuck_ ," I repeat, louder, stumbling backwards, away from the sight of fast traffic many feet below. A drop that could kill me, but if it didn't, an oncoming car surel would finish me off quick. "Fuck, Michael, I-" And just like that, his hand is clasped around my wrist, pulling me back and away.

I quickly turn away from the ledge, bumping straight into the Mad King, who doesn't move an inch. Barely breathes. Michael is rigid beside me, ready to once again pull me from danger, this time in the form of an experienced killer with a hidden identity.

His head twitches to the side curiously, and the grip around my wrist tightens. "You okay?" The deep voice behind the mask questions, surprisingly soft.

"Great," I breathe, my body unconsciously shrinking away, bitterly slow.

"Didn't seem like it." He steps impossibly closer, causing Michael to tug my arm, but I stay stock still. I can smell the rubber of his skull mask from how close we are. A whiff of fresh paint as well. Some sandalwood. "You can be suicidal all you want, Ray, but you will not sabotage this mission, do you hear me?" My name sounds like poison in his mouth. I nod, looking up at him, trying but failing to find his eyes amidst the dark holes in his mask. All I find is emptiness. "Good."

He steps away turning on his heel. Michael, Gavin, and I all remain frozen as he walks away, pausing at the far end of the building.

"I trust that you can keep him under control, and that he won't be a weak ally. We'll meet again soon." He steps up on the ledge, looking ready to jump, until- "Oh, and one more thing." He looks over his shoulder at us. "If he does put us in jeopardy, you can guarantee that I'll be the one to put him down. And it won't be pretty."

Calmly, he falls forward off the building, the sound of a parachute opening filling our ears moments after.

I'm left with a cold fear twisting in my gut.


	3. Don't Let Me Drown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: End by Secondhand Serenade

"We're taking the job."

"How can you say that!" Michael yells at me, shoving me away from him. He starts marching for the edge of the roof that the Mad King went off, but I grab his shoulder and yank him back.

"What do you think you're doing? He's gone."

"Yeah, I'm trying to find the fucker and tell him no deal," he growls, trying to pull free from the iron grip I have on his arm now, but when Gavin helps hold him from the other side, he knows it's futile. He's still a live wire beneath our hands, but he's stopped struggling for now. "You too, Gavin? Seriously? This is fucking crazy."

"I trust Ray. I suggest you try to do the same," he snaps angrily. "You saw him when he was looking over the edge, thinking about jumping- he called to you. Hasn't he proved to you that he won't be dumb and reckless? He trusted you to take him away from the ledge, the least you can do is trust him back. If you don't, he might not ask for your help again. He might just do it."

Michael's chocolate brown eyes meet mine, searching. "It's true, man," I murmur, making him flinch back in regret. "This is something we can control, as long as we all still trust each other. We can't lose this opportunity. Not because my best friend doesn't trust me."

He goes lax, and we let him slide easily from our hold. He turns his back to us, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, you're right. I'm sorry. I trust you. I honestly do. But I know you're scared, Ray. So why?"

"Because it's the Mad King. This mission- and the rest of our lives, if we succeed- will be absolutely insane. It's like I said," I shrug, even though he can't see, "I live for that. I live off my own fear. My own demise. And, god, it's definitely not healthy, but I'm not sure I could live without it."

"The problem is the fact that you can't live with it, either," he complains, shaking his head.

"As much as I fear dying on a job, I think I'd hate dying never experiencing the feeling it gives me even more."

The breath he lets out is filled with unspoken arguments. I'm glad he swallowed whatever he wanted to say, though. It just might have destroyed me.

"You're insane," Gavin whispers, and I roll my eyes, pushing him dangerously close the to end of the roof. He squawks in his obnoxious Gavin way, shying away from the drop.

Michael laughs, loud and free and _normal_. I grin, watching him tackle Gavin to the ground and give him a noogie. "Gayyy," I call, and a middle finger- Michael's- is waved in the air in the midst their tangled bodies.

~~~

I'm drowning again.

I'm not entirely sure how I ended up here, though I realize that, unlike last time, I know which way the surface is. I would swim to it, but, also unlike last time, I can't seem to move my limbs.

I open my eyes.

Judging by the immediate burn, it's saltwater. My glasses have fallen off, never to be seen again. Everything is blurred by the water in my eyes, but I now know my predicament.

I'm in the passenger seat of a car, still strapped in by my seatbelt. There's someone next to me, but I can't quite make out who. They're unconscious, though. That, or... Or...

I think I'm dying. I'm running out of air. Bubbles spill from my mouth as I slowly let out what little I have inside me. I should be panicking. I should be thrashing wildly, trying to free myself and swim up. But all I can do is sit, while a familiar fire burns in my lungs. I won't be beautiful. I won't be memorable. I'll just be gone.

I close my eyes, willing myself to just hold on as long as I can. Just to really relish my last moments of life. To remember.

The day I met Michael.

I had him at gunpoint, but he didn't seem to care. He was gushing about how I gunned down the rest of his team with such ease, seeming oddly happy about it.

The day I met Gavin.

Michael brought him home in the trunk of his car, tied up and gagged. Michael just kept repeating, "Oh shit oh shit oh shit," until he admitted, "I think I just kidnapped one of the best snipers in Los Santos. Fuck me. Oh fuck."

What idiots.

Then there was the first mission we all did together, stealing some coke for Michael's buddy. Someone spotted Gavin on his rooftop and shot him in the shoulder. Michael's car exploded while trying to get us back to safety. I may or may not have blown up everything in our wake. But we got a pretty good sum, considering the casualties.

Well, my life could have been worse.

Though, it could have ended better.

My chest hurts, my lungs hurt, my throat hurts, and every breath is like swallowing razors.

Wait... Breath? Breathing? Air?

My eyes open, instantly meeting a pair of baby blue ones. Everything is still for a moment. I feel warmth on my mouth. _Lips. Someone's lips. Breathing oxygen into my open pair._

My eyes widen as I breathe it in, and the person backs off, allowing me to cough. I sit up, stomach spasming and warm, salty water trickling from my mouth and nose. It feels like sandpaper was scraped a hundred times over in my throat and nose and lungs and eyes- everywhere.

I squeeze my eyes shut, finding them dry and itchy. _Oh yeah, cause I opened them in ocean water. Why, self, why?_

There's a body laying motionless next to mine, the same man who revived me striving to save them too. Even without my glasses, I can still tell whose auburn curls those are any day, though they're plastered to his head from the water.

"Mi-ichael," I rasp out, coughing again. The blue-eyed man looks up at me, an apologetic look in his eyes. I meet them, gaze hard, growling out hoarsely, "Save him."

"He's breathing." The man's voice is quiet, only a whisper, but recognition shoots through me. I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes at him, but he turns away from me. Then he's running, taking off up a slight slope to the freeway.

I look up, not even trying to go after him in my state, and see the highway above me, stretching across the water. _Michael drove us off the freeway?_ I look back down at my friend, seeing his chest struggle with air for a few moments before evening out, completely knocked out. I nudge his shoulder, but he gives no response. _Should I call an ambulance? Or would they recognize one of us? Maybe I should call Jack. He's good with medical shit._

I dig through my hoodie's pocket until I drag out my phone. My absolutely waterlogged phone. Fuck.

I look around, feeling completely helpless. A hobo sleeps beneath the bridge, but I doubt he has a phone. Other than him, there's no one else in sight.

I collapse next to Michael, starting to shiver as darkness slowly consumes the sky. Subtly, I move into his side, trying to save some heat between us.

I blink up at the stars, wide awake, preparing for one of the more miserable nights of my life.

I remember one time, when I was still a teenager, I had this dumb friend who liked to do dumb things. Like sleep outside in a tent in fall. And that was when I lived up north. Everyone else was being gay- all five of them cuddling on one side of the tent- while I was on the other, with no blanket and no pillow, freezing fucking cold.

That's how this feels. Except worse. Because I'm wet. And traffic sounds are annoying. Well, maybe not worse, since it's not as cold, but it's a close runner up to being my least favorite night of all. I mean, at least I have Michael to cuddle with now. Now that I'm not some awkward teenager struggling with my sexuality in a tent full of four dudes and one girl.

I sigh, finally closing my eyes. _This sucks._

~~~

Morning comes slow as ever, and I'm sure I didn't get a wink of sleep. My clothes are still damp, and my hair feels crusty with salt. Michael's looks a lot worse for wear. He just looks terrible in general. He's pale and shaking and his eyes keep twitching creepily.

As soon as the sun rises over the horizon, I flick his head. "Wake up, douchebag." Nothing. I slap his cheek a bit. A mumble- not really sure what he's trying to say. Finally, I shove his shoulder roughly, shouting, "Hey asshole, you drove us off a freaking bridge!"

His eyes open groggily, and he rubs them, yawning. "G'morning to'ya too, Ray."

I blink at him seriously, my facial expression probably conveying something along the lines of 'I'm so fucking done by now, so you better wake the fuck up and fucking explain yourself.'

"Oh shit!" He exclaims, sitting up, his hand immediately rubbing at his chest as he coughs. "Fuck." His voice is just as wrecked as mine probably is. He slowly raises his gaze, and winces when he does.

Confused, I watch as he raises the hand not on his chest, and gently touches a spot above my right eyebrow. I flinch back. "Ow, shit. What the-"

His hand comes back down, fingers coated in blood. I furrow my eyebrows, but he quickly says, "Stop. Try not to make it move much, it'll just keep reopening. God, we need to call someone. I'll-" His hand, which was buried in his pocket, now holds his phone, which is- of course- destroyed. "Right..."

"We were pulled out last night. Some guy was helping us, but he ran away. I mean, he saved our lives, but still... Asshole." Shakily, I bring myself to my feet, and offer Michael a hand.

"We should probably ask to use someone's phone. Unless you got change for a phone booth?" I shake my head, and he just shrugs like he expected it. We start walking up the small hill. "We probably look like freaking zombies, man."

"Let's hope no one shoots us. How'd you manage to drive off the freeway anyways?" I ask incredulously.

"Well, we _were_ running from the cops, since you just _had_ to rob that convenience store." He huffs out an indignant breath. "They shot my tires, almost shot me in the fucking head- I spun out of control."

"Hey, it was the only store around I hadn't robbed yet!"

Michael rolls his eyes at me. "Congrats then, you fucker. Achievement unlocked. You almost killed us."

I purse my lips as we reach the top of the hill, leaning against the guardrail. "Alright then, you can be the one to find us a phone."

"You bitch," he whines, but starts trying to wave down a car anyways. Surprisingly, it doesn't take too long, and a sleek black truck pulls over next to us. The window rolls down, revealing a man with a short beard and sunglasses that scream 'I never take these off, even indoors, because I'm _that guy._ ' "Hey man," Michael starts, charismatic as ever, "thanks for stopping. My buddy and I got stranded in the water when our boat sank, and our phones are completely ruined, do you think we could borrow yours real quick?"

The voice from Mr. Sunglasses is shockingly friendly. "Oh yeah, of course! Are you sure neither of you need a ride to the hospital?" He looks past Michael to me. "Looks like you banged your head pretty bad there, pal."

"Oh, nah, it's not that bad," I insist.

"Yeah, our friend lives pretty close, I was just going to give him a call and have him patch him up. He's actually a nurse, so..." Michael elaborates, shrugging casually.

"Alright, I get it. I hate hospitals, too, trust me. If I had a nurse friend, I'd never go there," he chuckles, handing over his iPhone, the dialing screen already up.

I smile in acknowledgement to his comment, watching as Michael taps out Jack's number, bringing it to his ear. After a few seconds, it seems he got an answer. "Heyyy, what's up Jack?" A pause. "Yeah, everything's fine, just had a bit of an accident... Yeah, he was with me... He's okay, just a bit of a cut on his forehead... You will? Oh, great... Yup, we owe you one, man... Okay, thanks... See you in a few, then." He hangs up, handing the phone back with a grin.

"Everything all set?" The man asks, taking his cell back. "You want me to wait with you guys or anything?"

"Nah, it's fine, he'll be here in ten minutes tops." Michael gives him another winning smile, making the guy nod and return it. "Thanks again."

"Any time! What's your name, pal?"

"Ah, I'm Michael Jones."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones. Name's Burnie. Burnie Burns." I freeze, seeing Michael's now tight and forced grin, and myself go rigid in the reflection of his sunglasses. I try to relax before he notices, but by his next line, I'm certain he already has. "I'll, uh... I'll see you guys around." His window is quickly rolled up, and he makes his way back into the stream of cars.

Michael turns to me, chewing on his lower lip. "Fuck. That was him. He knows we know. Now when shit goes down, he'll recognize us."

"Do you think he's suspicious?"

"He's a boss, of course he's suspicious! We're screwed."

I close my eyes tight for a minute, opening them only to see dark spots swim across my vision. "Dammit," I mumble, shaking my head.

Another car comes up to us, and Michael quickly ushers me in, he himself taking shotgun. Jack looks at me in the rearview mirror, soft eyes concerned. "Ray, you okay?"

I nod, rubbing my face tiredly. "Freaking perfect."

"What happened, by the way?"

Michael launches into the story as I rest my head on the warm, darkened glass of the window. The black interior is pleasantly heated from the early sun.

"...and you know how I told you about the whole thing with the Mad King? Well-"

"Wait," I interrupt Michael, lifting my head a bit to glare at him. "You told him? Dude! The Mad King is gonna fuck you up for doing that."

"Pfft, what he doesn't know won't kill him... Or make him kill others. Me, more specifically. Jack won't tell." He gives the man in question a sideways glance. "Right?"

"I'm hurt that you think I would, guys," he says sincerely.

"Sorry. Whatever. Carry on."

"So," Michael starts again, "you know all about that. The guy we're going after with him? Burns? Well, we may have called you using his cell phone."

"What? He was the guy you waved down on the side of the road for a phone call?" Jack asks, disbelief strong in his voice. He looks over quickly as Michael nods in all seriousness. "Holy crap."

"Yeah, it was pretty insane. We're totally fucked now, though."

"Yeah, you kind of are."

We pull into Jack's driveway, and pile out of the car. I lean on the door for a brief moment, feeling lightheaded. _Yeah, almost dying does that to you. You know this, Ray. Suicidal bastard._

I push away from the car, following my two friends into the house. As Jack courteously hangs up our jackets and tucks our haphazardly kicked off shoes into the corner, Michael and I wander ahead to the living room, him slightly ahead. Because he actually got sleep and doesn't have to drag his feet. _Dick._

"Jesus!" He screams, jumping back and stepping on my foot.

"Ow! What the hell, Michael?!"

"You have to stop doing that," he pants to someone sitting on the couch, completely ignoring me.

Peeking over the taller man's shoulder, I see that it's the one and only Mad King again. "Oh, hey," I greet. Calm. Unlike Michael's loud outburst.

I get a nod in return. That's all. We take the couch across from him, and when Jack walks in, wondering what all the commotion was, his reaction is more similar to Michael's.

"Christ! How'd you get in here?!"

I can practically feel the Mad King rolling his eyes. "Guys, for the last time, I'm not Jesus."

Jack's eyebrows furrow and Michael's head tilts, both too blockheaded to get it. I laugh though, muttering, "Good one."

"At least someone appreciates it," he grumbles, and there it is again. The thing Gavin mentioned. The certain way he talks that just makes him seem so... Mundane. Like a cool guy. Like one of those typical dads trying to make bad jokes that only one guy in a room full of people will laugh at. _Oh shit, I'm that one guy._ "Anyways, I heard about a little accident that happened last night. A car drove right off a bridge into the ocean. While being chased by cops. It seemed a bit... Peculiar."

I whistle casually, eyes roaming around, trying to seem casual. When my sweeping gaze lands on him, his masked face clearly focusing on me, I give him my best innocent look. "Whattt?" I bluff, huffing. "You're not assuming that was me, are you?"

"Oh, no, not at all." The sarcasm dripping off his words makes me cringe. "Your hair is kind of a gross mess and your clothes are soggy. It was you." It's not even a question. I just shrug helplessly. He looks at Michael now. "I thought you could control him."

"Hey, he's not just some animal that you can tell 'sit' and 'stay' and 'hey, don't kill yourself.' That whole driving into the ocean thing wasn't even him anyways. It was me. My fault. And it was an accident," he states, voice cold and hard.

"Well maybe this _accident_ is another reason I should drop this whole deal."

"Good, I didn't want to take it anyways! It was Gavin and Ray that pushed me to deal with your bullshit terms."

Suddenly, the Mad King is standing, a gun pointing at Micael.

I jump up, pointing a gun at him. _God damn why did I decide to make all my weapons pink?_

Then Jack's up, gun on me.

"Jack, what the fuck!" Michael growls, drawing a gun and pointing it at him.

We all stand still, none of us talking for a tense moment. My heart is pounding in my throat, the familiar adrenaline rushing through me. The gun pointed at my head is looking less like a lethal weapon and more like a blissful drug. The one in my hand is heavy and satisfying, and despite the shaking of energy in my fingers, I know damn well that my shot will go exactly where I want it to.

"I think we all have a bit of explaining to do..." Jack says guiltily, hesitantly lowering his weapon. The rest of ours follow, and in a matter of seconds, we're calm and sitting again. Michael goes to start demanding answers, but Jack quickly cuts him off. "We should call Gavin first."

So we call Gavin, who seems reluctant to come because we won't tell him why, but he agrees after some coaxing from his boi Michael (god they are so gay it's disgusting). In the mean time, him and I shower off the evidence of our brutal night and Jack makes tea until he arrives, and when he does, there's another man in tow. Some asshole wearing a suit and shades. The huge, shit-eating grin on his face makes him look suspicious, and the first words out of his mouth are:

"'Sup, bitches. I'm Geoff."


	4. Running Like I Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Hunger by Sam Sure
> 
> Once again- Jack is not a woman, he is a happy man who simply likes to wear women's clothing.

The Mad King, despite being masked, is looking like he really regrets hiring us right about now.

"Ohhh shit dude, is that the Mad King?" The new guy- Geoff- asks, his voice loud and unabashed. "Big fan, just saying."

"Thanks," the other mutters, shoulders drooping, not sounding very happy. "This is ridiculous. Gavin, does he know?"

The brit sheepishly nods, and in response to the glare I give him, tries to defend himself. "He's like a dad to me!"

Michael snorts, muttering a joking, "Daddy."

"Great. Just great," the Mad King sighs. He turns back to me. "Did you tell someone, too? Or is there anything else I should know about? Anything at all?"

I bite my tongue, shrugging. "No. I tend not to be as much of an idiot as Michael and Gavin."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." The sincerity in his voice surprises me, and I'm left a bit bewildered as everyone takes a seat around me.

There are only three couches, and six people. Gavin, Michael, and I sit on the three-seater, the Mad King and Geoff sit in the love seat across from us, and Jack sits in the recliner next to them. Everyone seems strangely relaxed- and I get that most of us are quite familiar with Jack's home, but... Not everyone. It's just weird how casual it is, all of us just lounging around, squished into one room. Normal, even.

"Hey, uh, Mr. Mad King?" Geoff speaks up. "Just saying, I could totally help get this guy you're after. I'm a bit of a badass. Plus I work for him, so."

"Wait wait- so you're saying Gavin told you even though he knew you worked for Burns?" He questions, receiving a nod. "Gavin-"

"No! It's not like that, you smegpot." I sigh, once again impressed by Gavin's... Colorful language. "I knew he hated him. This could be great! We have someone on the inside!"

The Mad King- _that's really annoying to keep repeating, I wish I knew his real name_ \- slumps back into the couch, reaching a hand under his mask to, presumably, rub tiredly at his eyes in exasperation. His fingers come back smeared with black and red. _What?_ "You know what? Jack? You wanna join, too?"

The man in question's eyebrow quirks up. "Seriously?"

"Why not."

"...Sure?"

"Great. We're a team now. Same deal I offered the three assholes who started this whole mess. Everyone happy?"

There's a long, drawn out moment of silence, where Michael's grin just slowly grows. Then, all of a sudden, him and Gavin are sandwiching me in a hug and whooping. "Watch out, Los Santos, Mogar and his bitches are comin' after you!"

"Lads, lads, please..." Geoff starts, standing. "This can't be a celebration without drinks first, now can it?"

"I don't drink, though," I protest, not particularly wanting to be stuck with a bunch of drunk losers.

"Ah, neither do I," the Mad King admits, a bit embarrassedly.

"I have Diet Coke," Jack offers, already making his way to the kitchen with Geoff right beside him.

"Great," I mumble, sinking down as the others jump up to get their alcohol.

~~~

At some point during the day, I'm handed a beer by Geoff. Instead of blatantly refusing, as I normally would, I just kind of look at it. Contemplate. Bring the rim of the bottle to my lips.

"Not giving into peer pressure, are you?"

I jump, taking it away and looking over, finding a skeleton mask. "Not really," I reply, recovering quickly and seamlessly. "The only reason I don't drink is because it tastes bad."

"Yeah, it does kind of taste like piss."

I shrug, and take a small drink from the bottle. I try to hold in my obvious disgust.

"So... How'd it taste?"

"...Like piss."

He laughs, a pleasantly adorable sound for such a scary and powerful person. I can't help but chuckle a bit myself. He hands me a Coke, and I accept it gratefully, rinsing away the foul taste the beer left on my tongue.

"You know, this celebration shouldn't just be fun for them. Why don't we sneak out and have some real fun? Blow some shit up? Cause some trouble?" He suggests, a wicked tone in his voice.

"This isn't peer pressure, is it?" I ask jokingly.

"Not at all." His voice may be a bit too innocent, but oh well.

"Alright then. I'm in."

Without hesitation, he grabs my wrist and pulls me off the couch with him. Gavin- who's doing body shots off of Michael for some odd reason- only gives us a glance and wink. _Freaks_.

We slip past the kitchen, hearing extremely loud laughter. That guy Geoff, no doubt. Jack is just leaving the room, the amused grin on his face slowly turning into suspicion as he sees us creeping out.

"Where are you two going?" He asks, sounding mildly hurt. And at the same time, too buzzed to genuinely care.

Geoff's head pops over his shoulder, calculating blue eyes quickly assessing the situation. Though, in his drunken state, his mind comes up with, "Blowjob, am I right?" He smirks, nodding in approval. "Nice."

"Uhh... Yeah." _Fuck, Ray, get it together_. "Yes. I love- uh, dick. In my mouth. And I'm gonna go do that. Right now. So bye." _Nailed it_.

I push past a snorting and snickering Mad King, pulling him the rest of the way out of the house. I lean against the passenger door of Michael's car, burying my face in my hands.

"Nice save."

"Shut up. I didn't see you trying to get us out of that."

"You seemed like you were handling it."

I lift my head to scowl at him, but he appears more or less unaffected. "Whatever. You got a car or something, or do I need to go back in to steal Michael's keys?"

"Nah, I got a ride." He jerks his head in a general direction, so I take the indication and follow him. At the end of Jack's driveway is a sleek black motorcycle, with a-

I squint at the back end of it. Take off my glasses, clean them on the t-shirt beneath my hoodie, and put them back on- but no, I'm not mistaken. "Is that the face of a cow painted onto your motorcycle?"

The Mad King stops in his tracks, fingers playing with a fray in the bottom of his jacket. "Maybe. Shut up. I'm allowed to have a personal life." I lift a concerned eyebrow, but his back is to me, so it's lost on him. He just continues forward, swinging a leg over the bike and taking a seat. "You coming or what?"

I let out a long, deep breath of air, but eventually join him on the bike, sliding up behind him. He starts her up, but doesn't pick up the kickstand. He clears his throat. "What?"

"You know, you'll fall off if you don't hold on."

I close my eyes for a second, hating my life in this moment. Manning up, I wrap my around around his waste, murmuring, "This is so gay."

"And admitting you love dick in your mouth isn't?"

"Be quiet."

Again with that soft, warm laugh, he takes off, the sound fading as it gets caught in the wind. My arms hold onto him tighter, and I can't help but admire the hardness of his stomach. _Goddammit, shut up, Ray_. But I can feel the vibrations of his laugh, and it's kind of nice.

"Where are we going?" I call, hoping it reaches his ears.

"Boardwalk!"

I relax against his back, knowing it'll take about fifteen minutes to get there. Though, with how fast we're going, maybe ten.

The afternoon is perfect, as always, taking the heat of midday away with a refreshingly cool breeze. At this speed, it's almost chilly, but the body in front of mine prevents any of the cold from seeping into my bones. So I close my eyes, basking in the mixture of wind through my hair and warmth on my chest.

The rest of the time flies by in a smear of colors- shops, pedestrians, and cars just a smudge in my peripherals. Before I know it, we're coming to a stop beneath the boardwalk, among the many support beams.

"Why we under here?" I ask, looking up at the boards above us.

"Quick emergency plan meeting. If things get out of hand, I'll fire a flare- or you can, if you get nervous about the situation- and we jump into the water. When we swim back over, the bike will be here and ready." I can imagine the devious grin under the mask, and I let one of my own spread across my face.

"Is this how you got the top?"

"Something like that."

I bite my lip as he turns and starts walking up the small hill leading to the boardwalk entrance. What a mysterious asshole. I follow anyways, shrugging it off. He's a weird dude. So what. Everyone I know is kind of weird. He just does it in a more... Badass way, I guess.

I jog to catch up to him, walking at his side, only now realizing how strange we must look. Some lanky kid in a purple sweatshirt when it's eighty degrees out, matched with bright red converse. Not to mention the gash I still have on my head. Then, next to me, a guy called the Mad King with a skull mask and a heavy leather jacket and- oh. Uh oh.

"Shit, dude, your mask!" I pull him back into the shadows of the pier.

His head tilts. "Yeah? What about it?"

I furrow my eyebrows. "You're not gonna like, you know, take it off? It's pretty damn suspicious, and I'm sure every cop around could recognize it."

"Yeah, I guess you're right..." His chest deflates in a sigh, and he gently tugs the mask off. My eyes widen.

"On second thought, maybe you _should_ wear the mask."

His face is covered with smudged red, black, and white paint, only little bits of skin visible. And eyes. Baby blue eyes.

"Oh, right," he chuckles, going back down to where the water meets the sand and splashing some onto his face, scrubbing gingerly at the face paint.

When he joins me once more, I study his face, now clearly visible. "You're a strange guy, you know that?"

"Why's that?"

"You don't seem at all hesitant to show me your face now, even though, for starters, you didn't want me looking at it for too long last night. When you pulled me out of the ocean, thinking I tried to kill myself, after you clearly said that if I tried and failed you'd kill me."

"In all fairness, I could tell the moment you opened your eyes that you knew who I was. As for the whole saving you part..." He shrugs, nonchalant, which is kind of infuriating. "This morning was a bluff, when I blamed you for it. I don't think you'd drag Michael down with you."

I narrow my eyes at him, but set aside his reasoning as I continue. "Alright, fine. But, secondly, why do you wear the mask and makeup all the time when, if someone asked you, you'd take it all off so willingly?"

"Mostly just to scare people. It makes people automatically think I'm the alpha in the room. And I'm shy."

I roll my eyes, and start walking towards the boardwalk again. "Like I said. Strange guy."

"Well, what about you, though?" He ponders, easily matching pace with me.

"What about me?"

"Just- the way you are is... Off. You're more reserved than those two lunatics you call friends- more reserved than anyone, really, even Jack. You withdraw yourself. You try so hard not to ask for help, but when you do, it's bad. What are you doing to yourself?"

I go to make a snippy reply, but it dies before it even reaches my lips. He's right. I'm pulling myself away from everyone. I used to be like Michael and Gavin, even just before my suicide attempt. What's changed? What am I doing to myself?

"Nothing," I lie, voice quiet. I watch the sand depress beneath my feat as I walk along it. I don't have to worry, though. These footprints will fade. "I've always been like that."

Suddenly, he stops. Confused, I halt as well, turning back to look at him. His eyes are downcast, fingers of one hand fiddling with a loose string on the seam of his pocket. I look up from them, and find that he's finally turned his gaze to me. We meet eyes. His voice is low. Dangerous.

"Liar."

All of a sudden, there is only one blue eye, the other obscured as I stare down the barrel of a gun. I hear people around us panicking and screaming and, well, doing what people do when they know they're about to watch someone die. It doesn't sound completely there, though. As if I'm separated from the world by a bubble of thick glass, muffling the sounds. There is only me in this encasement. Me, and the Mad King, and his god damn baby blue eyes.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you just pulled a gun on someone who is suicidal. Do you think I care if you shoot me?" It's a lie. It's such a huge fucking lie, but it just might work.

"Oh yeah? Were you always like that, too?"

"Shots fired."

He keeps quiet for a moment, as if waiting. I raise an eyebrow, making him lower his gun in exasperation. "What? You're not going to ask why?"

"Nah. You're a sick bastard. There's probably no reason at all."

Then the gun's up again, and there's the loud crack of it being fired, and pain is flooding my shoulder. I fall to my knees, clutching it, feeling warm liquid already seeping through my fingers.

"Fuck, you shot me! You actually shot me! What the fuck?" I curse, bending my body over and groaning. It feels like my shoulder's on fire, and my entire upper right side throbs. Everywhere else is just... Numb.

I look up at him, expecting to see him taking aim for the finishing shot, but it seems he's dropped the gun. He looks from his hands, to me, and back again before taking off. The sight of him running away sends a shock through my body. _He doesn't really want me dead_. He thought he did, but he doesn't. He could have ended me. Easily. But no. He pulled me from the water. He dropped his weapon. And both times, he ran.

People swarm me, shouting in my ear and dialing for an ambulance and trying to reassure me, but all I can do is stare past them. A man on a motorcycle rides up from below the boardwalk, and stops to look at me. And there's regret there. In those eyes.

Those baby blue eyes.

~~~

Why do I never die? Not that I'd be thrilled to die (except maybe I would be), but I've been so close so many times. Even before jumping off a bridge.

Sometimes, life is like a video game. You get shot. You live. You nearly drown. You live. You get severe burns in an explosion and- oh, hey, you live.

And then there's the times where it's real. When I was laying on the sand yesterday, having just been saved, and I saw Michael looking dead next to me... And when Gavin purposely mows down anyone on a bike, sure I laugh a bit, but it's _awful_. I never say it, but I think it's sickening and cruel. Then there was that time I was going down in a chopper, and I jumped out with the pilot- some guy I knew, some that that _had a family_ \- and his parachute failed while mine worked. I wondered, _why his? Why not mine?_ He had people to live for. And I guess that's when I realized that I _didn't_. The fact didn't comfort me in near death situations- it terrified me, knowing I was about to die and barely be remembered. I never meant anything to anyone.

I guess I do this to myself. The Mad King hit the mark when he said I withdraw myself from others.

Speaking of which...

My shoulder hurts like a bitch.

I just don't want to open my eyes yet, in fear that there will be cops standing around me while I lay in a hospital bed. Except it kind of smells like alcohol and women's perfume sooo I'm probably at Jack's again. With a bunch of wasted fuckfaces. Who probably extracted a bullet from my shoulder. While inebriated. Shit. Well. My day just got ten times worse.

Finally, I open my eyes, but end up immediately squeezing them shut again. _That's bright_. I squint into the sunlight, which streams in through the open curtains, which I guess no one thought to close. And I guess no one cared enough to stay by my bedside to make sure I kept breathing throughout the night. Not that I thought anyone would.

When I can fully open my eyes again, I take in the room. Yup, definitely Jack's house. No other guy I know has an open closet full of women's clothing except my buddy Jack. Must say, though, he makes a fine woman. _Wow, did they give me some kind of drug to numb the pain, or am I going insane?_

I sit up, despite my better judgement, but I fall back down with a moan, hitting the pillows softly. Hurried footsteps come from down the hall, and Jack bursts into my room. "Ray! You're awake. You okay?"

"Well, I mean, I got glacked in the shoulder, so... I'm great. Terrific," I joke monotonously.

"Judging by your attitude, you seem fine enough," Jack snarks, sitting on the bed next to me and placing a hand on my forehead. "Fever's gone down, that's good."

"You seem surprisingly clearheaded," I comment as he helps me sit up, this time with much less pain. He props pillows under my back as he asks why he wouldn't be. "Well, aren't you wickedly hungover?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "Was yesterday. You've been out for two days, man."

"Oh, shit..."

"Yeah. How'd this happen?"

 _Oh, they don't know_. I bite my lip, wincing as he starts peeling back a bandage on my shoulder. I listen closely to the sounds inside the house, but it's silent other than Jack rummaging through a med kit. I watch as he soaks a cotton cloth with alcohol and dab it gently over my wound and- holy shit. One, that hurts a lot, and two, there's a gaping hole in my shoulder. I hiss, trying my best not to flinch away, but my body jerks and shiver involuntarily.

When it's over- _god, finally_ \- and he's placed a fresh, clean bandage over it, he looks at me expectantly, still waiting for an answer. An answer I'm not sure I want to give. "So?" He prompts, tone gentle.

"I-" Before I go on, I pause. "Wait, is the Mad King...?"

"He's at home resting. He refuses to tell us what happened. Every time we went over to ask, he changed the subject, making plans for the job."

"Oh. Okay." I sigh. So, he's back. Acting like he didn't shoot me. Alright. I can look past it. They don't need to know. "Well, we made a mess at the boardwalk, and some cops clipped me. He got separated from me in the crowd after I collapsed, and I don't know where he went, but I didn't see him again."

"He called us. Said someone probably called both an ambulance and the cops, so we had to come and get you. It was hell, and people were freaking out. Everything's cleared up, though," he assures me, but I don't feel better about it. Not at all.

 _He called them_. Once again, he saved me- this time from jail. Does he have some sort of personality disorder or something? One moment, he shoots me, the next, he's rescuing me. What is this game he's playing?

"What did he say about the job?"

"He wants it done as soon as possible- and he wants you to stay out of it." When he sees me instantly open my mouth to protest, he holds up a hand. "Listen, Ray, he has a point. You just got _shot_."

"No, I can't just sit out on this! What if something happens? You guys are literally all I have. If we're going to go down, I'd rather be there to go down with you. The extra man might even help us defeat Burns. Even if I'm just staying out of it, sniping from somewhere safer."

Jack lets out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. "Honestly, Ray, it's really not a good idea, but I know that you won't be withheld. You'll get there somehow even if we tie you down and lock you in a safe. I'll talk to the Mad King about it, and get the rest of the guys to back me up, but if he still says no... It's a no, and we'll have to make sure you stay put when the day comes."

"You just said yourself, you know I'll get there. Better to bring me along willingly than having me exert myself by going forcefully."

He gives me a hard look, but those caring eyes could never stay angry. Barely for a second. "I'll see what I can do." Then he's standing, leaving the room. He stops in the doorway. "Want me to bring you anything?"

"Taco Bell?" He rolls his eyes, but nods hesitantly. "Thanks Jack!"

"Whatever," he mumbles, digging his keys out of his pocket as he starts his way down the hall.

"Love you!" I call cheekily.

"No, you just love Taco Bell!"

... _True_.


	5. Like a Force With No Release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Final Call by Koven

The next time I wake up, it's dark out. I'm not sure how much time has passed, but my eyelids aren't stuck together like they were the last time I woke, so I guess it hasn't been two days. Judging by the faint smell of beautiful, delicious taco bell still lingering in the room, I'm guessing it's only been a few hours.

The mattress beside me in slightly dipped in, alerting me of someone sitting there. Not going to lie, it's kind of terrifying because it's pitch black and it could be anyone. Or anything.

"Jack?" I ask tentatively, keeping my voice fairly quiet in case any of the other guys have decided to crash here. I struggle to sit up, and reach blindly at the bedside table for my glasses, as if they'll somehow help me see in the dark. I falter as a warm breath cascades over my ear.

"Same voice, different person."

I stiffen, my arms moving almost mechanically as they finally find my glasses and shove them on my face. The blurry shades of grey become outlines now, and a dark figure on their knees looms over me. _The Mad King_. From the clearness of his voice, I already know he doesn't have his mask on, but what about that dreaded face paint? I swear, it's ten times worse.

"Come to finish me off?" I scoff boldly, knowing he won't be able to see the fear that is undoubtedly clear on my face. It pools in my stomach like lava, burning so hot it almost feels cold. I just pray he doesn't feel the shiver that runs down my spine, and causes goosebumps to raise on my arms.

"I'm sure you want that, but no," he whispers. "And keep your voice down."

"I'll do what I damn well-" _Fuck_.

His hand covers my mouth, pressing against my lips almost threateningly. For some reason, I always expected his touch to be cold, but it's surprisingly warm where it meets the sensitive skin of my face.

_Shut the fuck up, Ray. When a psychopath covers your mouth, you should be concerned._

I should especially be concerned with the way his face is frighteningly close to mine, his on mouth almost touching my ear as he speaks, so quiet that even if Jack was in the room, he'd never be able to hear it. But I sure can.

"You're staying away from the Burns mission wether you like it or not. I will go to any measures to make sure you are not involved in it. Do you understand?" He growls- or, actually, it's more like a demanding purr with how soft it is, despite the threat in his words.

I don't respond- not even with a nod or a shake of my head. His hand tightens around my mouth, fingers digging into my jaw. A tiny, really embarrassing, unintentional noise of discomfort leaves my throat. Despite it being muffled, he still hears it- _of fucking course he does_ \- and he responds with a deep, almost silent laugh. I feel it vibrate throughout his chest- that's how close he is. My whole body is itching at the proximity. I've always been weird about people touching me. You either go all out and snuggle the hell out of me, or you keep at least five feet away at all times. Only the Mad king's chest touches me, pressing against my shoulder. My injured shoulder. It's light enough that it doesn't hurt, per say, but it's not the greatest feeling in the world. I refuse to make that baby kitten sound again, though.

"I'm sorry," he purrs again, though he really doesn't sound all too sincere. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" He pushes closer and- shit, yup, _now_ it hurts.

I groan quietly, nodding in defeat. My eyes, having adjusted to the dark, can now make out his, which are wide and bright. They glint with something I do _not_ like.

The pressure remains, making the wound thrum with it's own heartbeat. Or is that his? Whichever- it's racing pretty erratically.

"Your heart is beating fast, Ray," he murmurs, and I once again shiver. He definitely felt it this time, too. _It's mine then. Fuck me. Fuck my life_. "Why?"

The hand is lifted from my mouth, and I realize he wants an actual answer. I breath deeply, closing my eyes and trying to turn away, but he immediately reaches up again to grip my chin, keeping me in place. I can imagine the grin on his face, taking some sort sick pleasure in this.

"Am I doing it to you?" His nose drags lightly along my jaw, body pressing ever closer, and I'm completely helpless to it in my state. He presses harder on my shoulder, making me gasp and hiss. "Do you like pain?"

"Stop," I ground out between clenched teeth. "God, please, stop."

"Begging me, are you?" His sultry voice mumbles, mouth pressed into a soft spot under my ear. "Good."

I know I'm begging. I know it, and I hate it, but my arm is on fire and my head is pounding and everything is _so wrong_. "Please. Please please please, it hurts- everything hurts. Get off. I can't- I-I..." My words trail off, my mind no longer capable of forming them. By now I'm just groaning and mumbling and trying to writhe away.

Suddenly, just like that, everything is gone. The pain, the pressure, his presence- all quickly jerked away. When I open my eyes, he's across the room by the window, face buried in his hands. He's muttering something under his breath, over and over, but I can't quite tell what it is. I just stare, eyes probably as wide as the moon, blanket hugged to my chest in a humiliating and childish defense type of way. When he finally looks at me, sees how pathetic I look, he just curses. Carefully, he approaches, but I don't move. Don't breath. Don't even blink. He seats himself on the very farthest edge of the bed from me.

I'm not sure what I expect, but it's definitely not what comes out of his mouth now.

"My real name is Ryan."

I'm shocked into utter silence for a while, and I guess he doesn't expect a response anyways, because he keeps talking.

"It's originally James Ryan Haywood, but I prefer Ryan. Before I became the Mad King, I was simply Vagabond. Traveled here from Georgia, only staying in each city I stopped in for about a month. That's why I got the name. Half the southeast knew the name. I'm sure you recognize it, too." He glances over at me, and I simply nod, swallowing hard. "I became the Mad King once I settled here in Los Santos. I was already well-known. All it took was a bit of insanity and a murder spree, and then I was the most infamous criminal around. That thing that Burns took from me? That I tried so desperately to get back? That was my sanity. He made a monster of me. Don't let him make a monster of you. Please, just... Stay out of it. Any other person, and I'd let you come, but you will _not_ be taken by Burns."

Near the end, there's a dominating protectiveness leaking into his voice. Despite my brain screaming at me, telling me the man is dangerous and I should tell him to just leave, I shakily ask, "Why do you care so much?"

There's a long, dreadful silence. Will he even answer? Why should I expect him to? After a whole lot of nothing, he finally replies.

"I... don't know."

His voice is _ruined_. Not in the way mine or Michael's was after breathing in saltwater, but in the way that... The lump in your throat just becomes too much, and you can barely push your words past, but you have to and you force it and it comes out absolutely destroyed.

"I'm not normal. I'm sure you already guessed. Just one word, and I spiral into madness. It's almost like a blackout. I see everything through a haze. It's not really me. Then I snap out of it, and I see the aftermath..." He laughs humorlessly. "And I realize I'm a monster."

"Not always."

"Yeah, but most of the time. I can't control it. I'm dangerous." The word hangs in the air, cold and ugly and unforgiving of the man before me. "You saw what just happened. I-" He stops, licks his lips and shakes his head. "I don't say this often. Not sincerely, at least. But I'm sorry." He stands, making his way to the door, only stopping to look back at me, finding my eyes in the dark. "I meant what I said. Stay away from Burns and... Stay away from me, too."

He's about to go- and I can't just sit here and say nothing, can I? After the hell he put me through? After that whole roller coaster of confusion? My mouth is open, but there are no words, and my window of opportunity is closing fast. Is there anything I even can say?

"I tend to do whatever I can to find out about things I'm curious about," I blurt out, making him look at me in confusion. "And I just so happen to be curious about you." I swallow tensely. "I must be suicidal to say this," I joke, making him roll his eyes before glaring at me, now realizing where this is going, "but it's going to be a lot more difficult for you to get rid of me than a few little temper tantrums."

There's a beat of silence, a silence in which my heart is in my throat. Finally, he just whispers, "You walk on thin ice, Ray." Then he's gone, and I can't even hear his footsteps as he leaves. It's almost like I imagined the whole thing, except my shoulder still pulses with the pain of being pressed against.

I sink back down, sliding further into the covers and resting my head on the pillows once again. Like he was never here. And maybe I should make myself believe that. Maybe...

But probably not.

~~~

"How you feeling, buddy?" Geoff asks, sitting on the side of my bed, holding a slush.

"Depends. Is that for me?" I ask, eyeing the bright red drink in his hand.

"Why, yes it is."

"In that case," I say, taking it from him, "I am fantastic. Why are you here, though?"

He shrugs, causing me to feel suspicious. "Oh, you know..."

I roll my eyes, sipping the slush. "Way to be subtle. What's up?"

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Jack's having me babysit you for a bit."

"What? Why? No offense, dude, but I only met you a few days ago. He couldn't have gotten Michael or Gavin to do it?"

He snorts, "You think he trusts thoses assholes to be responsible?"

"You don't seem like much of a step up."

"Ouch, man," he pretends to wince, holding his hand on his chest. "That hurts me." I just shake my head, shoving him, making him end up laughing it off. "I'm more mature than you think. Honestly."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Like, I was mature enough not to tell Jack about what happened last night."

I suddenly feel cold, and not from the slush. I slowly raise my eyes to his, which are both stern yet understanding. Half-heartedly, I start, "What do you-"

"Don't even try to play dumb, Ray. The Mad King was in here. He was the one who hurt you at the boardwalk. He hurt you last night, too."

"How do you know this?" My eyes must be huge, like a child who's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I crashed on the couch. If you hadn't noticed, I'm drunk or hungover eighty percent of the time. I heard his voice, low and nasty, and I went to investigate. Then everything suddenly went quiet. I heard him apologize, then ran back to the couch in case he was about to leave. About ten minutes later, he finally walked out, but not before leaning down to my ear and whispering _tell no one_. He's a creepy son of a bitch."

I raise my eyebrows, speechless. He just grins lazily at me. "W-What the fuck, Geoff! You knew he was hurting me and you didn't do shit!"

"What could I have done? If I had gone in there, I'm pretty sure he would have killed both of us."

"Wow. Thanks for conserving your life first."

"Hey," he defends, "I realize we're a team now, and it won't happen again."

"Whatever, man." I relax against the headboard, lazily studying his face. He has that constantly tired look about him that all dads have. Maybe he is a dad. I feel like he'd get offended if I asked. "When's Jack coming back?"

"What, you hate me that much?" I roll my eyes at the question, and he just grins it off. "Not until a lot later. Actually, Mad King's coming over to take over babysitting duty soon. With Michael supervising, of course. Don't want my favorite Puerto Rican getting murdered, now do we?"

I swallow hard on my mouthful of slush. "Thanks," I mutter drily.

He seems to ponder for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek and looking down. "You know," he claims, "I really don't think he wants to hurt you."

"What makes you say that? He shot me, and then made the bullet wound even more painful for me." My incredulity is clearly evident in my tone, and it makes Geoff scowl. Sure, he saved me that one time with Michael, but that's because he obviously needed us. If I happened to be drowning for, what, the third time now? Well, he has a whole crew. He doesn't need me. He'd let me sink to ocean floor. Wouldn't even feel even the slightest remorse.

"He could have easily killed you that day on the boardwalk, for one. And-"

"Wait, wait. He didn't kill me, yeah, but he still _shot_ me!"

"Yeah, but, in the right shoulder. Not even the left. He had no intention to kill you." I glare at him. _That doesn't validate him shooting me._ "Anyways, think about this, too: he's trying to keep you from this mission."

"I want to go."

"He doesn't want you to go, though. You know why?"

"Because I'm weak and I'd get us all killed?"

"Because you're weak and you'd probably get _yourself_ killed. That's clearly all he cares about. Your safety. You gotta trust me on this, buddy." I just shake my head slowly as he speaks the words. I don't mean shit to the Mad King- or _Ryan_ , I guess. Thank god, a shorter name, by the way. Geoff looks around, as if someone would be listening even though we're the only two people here, and starts saying urgently, "Listen, I think the Mad King-"

We both jump in opposite directions of each other as we hear the front door slam open, and Michael yelling, "Sup, bitches, I brought Subway!" I hadn't realized before, but considering how close my head is to Geoff's still, we'd leant in pretty close from the intensity of what he was about to say. _And he didn't get to say it all._

Yup, that'll forever be an itch in the back of my mind.

Michael walks in, th- _Ryan_ close behind him. My best friend grins at me, sees the proximity of Geoff and I, then raises his eyebrows. Before he can say anything, however, Ryan's cold, biting voice inputs.

"Oh, did we interrupt something?"

Geoff scrambles back, standing and wiping his hands on his jeans nervously. "No, not really. He's the one who loves dick in his mouth. Not me. I, uh..." He purses his lips. "I'll be going now."

Just to piss Ryan off- and amuse Michael- I reach out and slap Geoff's ass before he walks away. It seems to kick him into gear, because he practically runs from the room, earning a bit of a... _disturbing_ look from Ryan.

Fuck, what was Geoff about to say about him?

I'm distracted as a sandwich is thrown at me, and I nearly get hit in the face before my reflexes kick in. "Thanks, Michael," I mumble, unwrapping it.

He stares at me for a few seconds, head tilted in contemplation. His gaze briefly flicks to Ryan, but it's so fast I'm not even sure it actually happened. "Hey, uh, Mad King? Can I talk with Ray alone for a sec?"

"I was actually going to ask the same, but you can go ahead and do it first," he replies coolly, but it's obvious from Michael's concerned look that he's wary. Before he can say anything, though, Ryan's out the door, clicking it quietly shut behind him.

Michael just gives me a raised eyebrow. "Something must have gone down between you two." I shrug noncommittally, but he doesn't seem to mind the lack of explanation. "Anyways, that's not what I'm here to talk about." He glances at the door nervously, then makes his way to my side of the bed and crouching to be closer to my level. "Listen, the mission's been moved. We're doing it tomorrow. We're planning everything tonight- without you. We were supposed to keep it secret, but I knew you'd find out somehow, and I knew you'd be mad, and you'd probably just happen to stumble upon us and take out a gun and try to join and- I don't know. A mess would have been made no matter what went down. So I'm telling you, and I'm going to help you listen in."

His usually happy eyes are devoid of their usual joy, now looking desperate and searching as they sweep over my expression. I swallow the lump forming in my throat. "Thanks, man. I-"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm great and all. Just know that I'm with the Mad King on this. I don't want you anywhere near this mission with that shoulder of yours. Hell, even if you weren't injured- I never really _want_ you putting yourself in danger like we do all the time. But I deal with it. So that's what I know I have to do this time, too." He stares at the ground between his feet, his auburn curls tilting forwards, hiding his eyes from me. "I won't stop you."

I reach out, tugging gently on a curl. "You're my best friend, you know that, right?"

He peers up at me, and I can just see his tiny smile. "Obviously."

"Good." I retract my arm, and rub my hands together mischievously. "So... how are we going to do this?" A full blown grin spreads across his face now, and he jumps up on the bed, rolling over my legs- "Ow, fuck, Michael" -and then sits cross legged on the space next to me.

"Dude, I got this badass spy shit. Earpieces and a tiny microphone- even a little camera for my glasses," he enthuses, leaning back to dig inside the pocket of his jeans.

I snort a laugh at him. "That's so lame," I tease, but when he pulls out a few small, black electronic devices, all I can think is, _that's so awesome._

~~~

It's only after about a half hour of fiddling with the devices that Ryan knocks on the door, and we remember that he needed a word with me, too. So, after Michael unceremoniously shoves all the spy things back into his pocket, he sheepishly opens the door.

"Sorry, MK, haven't hung out with my best friend in a while. That's what I'm calling you now, by the way. MK. Mad King. It's just easier, you know."

_Oh, god, he's rambling._

"Anyways! He's all yours." Then he slips past him, escaping into the hallway. Ryan's masked face just watches as he recedes from the room, probably to the living room or kitchen.

Once the door is shut behind him, he takes off his mask and wipes his brow, red paint smearing on his hand. At my incredulous look, he just shrugs, "It's hot in that thing."

I huff a small laugh, still uncomfortable and not completely trusting from our last encounter. "So, you wanted to talk?"

He sighs, obviously seeing how careful I'm being. "I don't want you to be permanently terrified of me now."

"You told me last night to stay away from you. That you're dangerous. Now you're trying to get closer and say that I shouldn't be even a little bit scared?"

"I'm not saying that..." He leans his back against the door, looking up at the ceiling. "I didn't come here to contradict my own words, or to scare you."

Reluctantly, I force myself to relax a bit, rolling my shoulders before settling back against my propped up pillows. "Why _did_ you come to speak to me?"

"I want you to know something."

"Alright... I'm listening."

He looks at me, frowning when I flinch just the tiniest bit. "I want you to know that you _can_ trust me. I may lose control of myself sometimes, and I may have hurt you, but I don't want to do it again. I wouldn't."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Just in case..." He pauses, probably wondering if he should continue his sentence. There's no need, really. I know where this is going. I don't think I want to hear it- at least not out loud. The possibility that- "In case, during the job, there are... Casualties," _god, why that word, of all words to use_ , "I want you to be able to trust me. Because I want to work with you, one day, when you're better. I want us to get to the top. I want that for everyone else, too, but in this situation-" he stops, realizing he's going on too long, and that I get it. Man, do I get it. "Just please stop looking at me like I'm a monster. I know I am one, but I don't want to be, especially to you."

"You're not-"

"Ray," he says quietly, and I immediately shut up. I know that tone. That tone says that he is not arguing this. "I'm a monster."

And maybe he is. No- he definitely is. Well, the Mad King is. Ryan Haywood, though?

He's just like me.

Misunderstood.

Broken.

Trapped.

_Human._


	6. They Thought They Could Keep Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: 'Til It's Over by Tristam

Ryan leaves pretty quickly after our conversation, and after a few minutes, Michael pokes his head around the doorframe. When he sees Ryan has gone, he comes in, holding his iPad in his hands. He double checks the hallway for any sign of the Mad King before closing the door and jumping onto the bed next to me, setting close enough so I can see what he's doing on the iPad.

"Alright, I've got my glasses all set up with the camera and I've checked the audio. We should be good. You can watch from this," he explains, handing over the iPad after clicking open an app where I can see my own face from the point of view of Michael, "and hear from this," then hands me an earpiece. "See that little blue light that's on? That means it's wirelessly connected to the iPad. If the audio cuts off, just make sure the light is on before trying... Other methods of listening."

I nod, putting it aside and clicking off the iPad. "Got it. So, when will the meeting start?"

"The rest of the guys are coming back at around five, so probably around then."

"Where are they anyways?"

He shrugs. "Just a little side job to get some extra cash to buy ammo and shit for the job."

"Wow. They're... Prepared. I can't believe they were trying to hide it from me."

"I know. So much for being a team, right?" He scoffs. "Good thing you have me. Also- speaking of me being the most amazing friend..." He pulls out an iPhone with a pink and white Otter case. "You're welcome."

"I almost forgot we destroyed our phones," I mumble, taking it from him. It's the latest version. "How did you get the money for these?"

"I've been working a bit while you've been healing," he muses, smirking at my impressed nod of approval. "I've been thinking, too..." He whips out his own phone, unlocking it and opening an app immediately. "GameCenter competition?"

"Oh, you're on."

~~~

"Goddammit, Ray, stop fuckin- JESUS FUCKING SWISS FUCKING CHEESE FUCKING- RAY!" Michael screams as I murder him in multiplayer Minecraft.

The Mad King decides to open the door at this moment, and his masked head is tilted to the side, his expression probably horrified and/or confused. "What is-?"

"Fucking Ray thinks he can kill me and take all my shit."

"Don't we do that for a living?"

"I mean in Minecraft!"

I can practically _feel_ the eye roll Michael's no doubt receiving. "Right... Anyways, dinner's ready." He walks in, setting a plate on my lap. "Come on, Michael."

He nods, standing to follow Ryan out. Before he does, though, he gives me a look. Casually, I slide the iPad into my lap. Behind Ryan's back, Michael shoves a teeny tiny microphone in his shirt's breast pocket, and a teeny tiny earpiece in his ear that he covers with his hair. Then he's out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Once it's closed, I put in my own earpiece and attach my microphone to the collar of my t-shirt. Just in case I have to ask him to get a better shot of something. Then I open the app and settle back into my pillows, one hand using a fork to shove chicken nuggets in my mouth.

I watch as Michael walks down the hall, taking a right into the dining room, and see that the table is already set up with notebooks, a giant map, and pictures of different locations. Ryan, who was in front of Michael, sits at the head of the table. The view is lowered as Michael sits to the left of him. Across from him, Geoff takes a seat, along with Jack next to him and Gavin next to Michael. They're all quiet for a moment, all giving each other serious looks. It's kind of unsettling whenever they look at Michael. It's like they're seeing me.

"So," Ryan starts, picking up a pen and idly tapping it against the rings of his notebook. "Plans have to be changed, now that we're a man short. Gavin, you're our new sniper. You'll be setting up where Ray was originally going to be. Later on, you're going to have to parachute onto the scene when Burns calls for backup." I hear a quiet sound of affirmation from Michael's left. "Right, this is all taking place on a construction sight. Burns was planning on moving what we're after, and the construction zone is their rendezvous."

"Wait, I have a question," Geoff states, and Michael's line of vision goes to him. "What exactly are we after? I mean- what did he steal from you that's so important?"

Ryan sighs, long and... Melancholy? His face is tipped towards the table top, where the movement of his pen has stilled. "I suppose I should tell the story."

_That thing that Burns took from me? That I tried so desperately to get back? That was my sanity._

I have a feeling he didn't mean that literally.

"Burns and I met a long time ago. We lived in Georgia. I was still a low key criminal. We were actually working together. One day, though, I uh... I found someone. God, I was so young and incredibly stupid," he laughs humorlessly. Everyone at the table is invested, and so am I. "Burns warned me. Said nothing good would come of it. I pushed him away. In fact, I turned him into the police, because she told me to. And you want to know why I never left her, even after she made me get rid of my best friend and quit my dangerous job? Because she was pregnant. The doctors- they could only save one... She chose... She..."

Everything is still. Quiet. I can just imagine the wide eyes all around. Ryan's hands clasp together tightly, his knuckles going white.

"She died during the birth."

My breath feels stuck inside my lungs, and I can't force it in or out. Suddenly, I don't want to be listening in any more. I keep the earpiece in, though. I keep the app open. I keep watching.

"When Burns got out of jail, he realized that I had lost everything. What else could he do as revenge? A few years later, my daughter was four, and he broke into my house the night of her birthday." His tone begins to grow cold, the emotion being caged back inside him. "He took her."

"When was this?" Geoff asks, his voice soft for once.

"Just over a year ago. I hadn't been able to locate Burns until now."

"Then let's get her back, yeah? She's been gone far too long. We need to stop him," Gavin insists, and Michael looks over so I can see him. His eyes are burning with a rage I have never seen in him before.

Ryan just nods, clears his throat, and shakes his head. "Yeah. We do. So, ah, Gav. You'll be across the street, here," he points to a place on the map, and Michael immediately leans in for a better view. Ryan's hand is still shaking ever so slightly. _Not important, Ray. Note the places he points to_. "You'll pick off the guards standing outside, and when I tell you to, you'll parachute down and run in to help us. Make sure you have a silencer on your rifle.Jack, you'll be driving a chopper with Geoff, who will jump out and parachute to the roof of the building- don't worry, it's pretty late in the stages of construction and it's already finished. You'll drop down the ladder to the second floor, which is basically just a bunch of beams at the moment, and you'll be on one of the beams ready to drop down as soon as Michael and I need help. Now, Michael-" he turns to me- or, him- us? "You and I are going to sneak in and find a hiding spot. We'll be getting there an hour early. Burns' crew will already be there, so we have to be stealthy about it. Burns is going to show up in a van with my daughter, and once those car doors are open, you, me and Geoff are jumping out and getting into action. I'll tell Gavin to join us. Meanwhile, Jack has gotten rid of the chopper and has gotten an escape vehicle- something fast, but can fit us all. Obviously, we leave no witnesses."

Everyone nods in approval, still quietly somber from Ryan's story. Michael especially is a very protective person. He acts like an asshole sometimes- well, a lot- but he really cares. Like, _really_ fucking cares. He may rage, he may kill, and he may be roughly affectionate, but he's a softie at heart. Apparently just like Ryan is, because heaven knows I have seen the best and worst sides of that madman.

"We'll get up early in the morning, drive around the sight, buy ammo, prepare vehicles, and map out alternative escape routes. The mission starts at eleven. Burns will be there at noon. For now, get a good night's sleep," Ryan finishes. "Jack, mind if we crash here?"

Jack sighs, but shakes his head. "Nah, it's fine. Michael can sleep with Ray, you can take the other spare room, and Gavin and Geoff can take the couches out here. Is that okay?"

"Why does Michael get to sleep with Ray?" Gavin whines. "Why not me?"

"Because you're a piece of shit, Gavvers," Michael responds, though it's fondly.

I snort a small laugh, and everyone in the room freezes. "What was that?" Gavin wonders aloud, everyone looking confused. Everyone except the Mad King, who is storming away. Down the hall. _Towards me._

I rip out the earpiece and microphone, floundering for a moment before shoving them in my pants. I click out of the app and delete it, instead opening- what's this shit? Geometry Dash. Just as I start a level, the door bangs open, making me nearly jump out of my skin.

I play it off, desperately hoping that the quiver in my voice isn't noticeable. "Jesus, MK, what's up?"

"Don't play dumb with you. Someone told you, didn't they?"

"Told me what?!"

He steps closer, and I recede into the bedding a bit. "Do you think I'm stupid, Ray?"

"No! What the fuck is going on?"

He growls, and rips the iPad from my hands, searching through the apps and recently FaceTimed list.

Michael rushes into the room, unnoticed by Ryan. He gives me a wide-eyed look behind his back, and I subtly give him a _chill the fuck out_ look. He bites his lip, but some tenseness releases from his shoulders. He trusts me.

Just then, the iPad is tossed back onto my lap, and I curse as it smacks right onto my knee. "What the fuck, man?"

Behind the mask, I'm sure I'm getting the most suspicious glare in the world. He turns to leave, almost bumping into Michael, who scrambles to the side to get out of his way. Only- he doesn't let him. He grips Michael's shirt collar in a tight fist, bringing him close. Quiet words are exchanged, Ryan's voice deep and rumbling, Michael's high and desperate. Finally, the Mad King lets go, shoving Michael against the wall in the process. He slams the door behind him.

Michael remains against the wall for some time, but I let him stay there in silence. When he at last moves, he simply turns off the lights, and I hear him stripping off his clothes. When he crawls into bed next to me, I let myself sink to lay on my side- my left side- which thankfully faces him. I reach out in the dark, feeling around until-

His hand finds mine, and gives it a reassuring and friendly squeeze before letting go. "It'll be alright, Ray."

"What do you mean?"

I get nothing in return, just the sound of his hair rubbing against the pillow. Shaking his head. "Goodnight." Without another word, he rolls over so his back is to me, and- presumably- falls asleep.

I huff out a quiet breath and shift so I'm on my back, looking up at the ceiling. It slowly becomes brighter as my eyes adjust, and in no time, I'm able to see every individual line in the vast white.

I make shapes in the dark as I drift into a restless sleep.

~~~

That fuck.

He didn't try too hard, though, which makes me want to believe he did want me to go.

Still, this might take a while, and I have no idea what time it is.

They tied me to the bed. With chains. As if I can't get out.

Which... Actually, I don't know if I can. They seemed to have stripped the room of anything and everything that could potentially help me out. Even a clock. Even my phone, it seems.

I look up at my shackled wrist, which attaches to the headboard. Fortunately, the bed isn't very long, so my arms do have some wiggle room. However, my legs do not.

I could potentially try to break the headboard, but let's be real here- I'm about as strong as a piece of grass. A breeze could tip me. Many things could crush me. All I really do all day is sit in the same spot unless some other force makes me move for some reason.

Yeah, that's pretty accurate.

I'll try anyways.

I wrap any excess chain around my wrist- and only know am I wondering why the fuck they just have shackles and chains lying around (and how they attach them so perfectly. With a deep breath, I channel my inner body builder (haha as if), and I pull with all my might. Which isn't much. All I get is a slight groan of complaint from the wood and sore fingers.

Okay. Plan B. Thank god the chain they used made it so my arms could move.

I reach up to the headboard- which is made of a bunch of vertical bars of wood. Every fourth bar has a screw in the space beside it. If my recent manicure doesn't fail me (I am manly as fuck), I should be able to use my thumbnail to slowly, and probably painfully, unscrew one

When I jamb my nail into it, it hurts a lot more than I expect. And, not to mention, a lot harder. Whoever put this thing together was not messing around.

Eventually, I do twist it out, and ruin my nail, but sacrifices must be made I suppose.

Once it's out, I hold it between my fingers and reach across to the lock of my other hand's shackle. Fortunate for me, the screw is very thin and slips in easily. This is probably the easiest part. The amount of locks I've picked in my life with various objects is almost shameful, but at the same time, quite impressive if I do say so myself. I jiggle it around, feeling and prodding until the satisfying click comes to my ears, and the cuff falls off. I pick off the rest of them and rub at my shoulder. Having my arm above my head like that wasn't very comfortable for it.

As much as I want to stay and complain about my wound, I know I need to get moving, so I get up. Quickly- but also carefully- I change out of my day old pajamas and shove on my red converse. Now all that I need to do is find guns. All I had was my handgun on me, which I'm sure Jack has hidden, but if they left my wallet...

I jog down the hallway into the kitchen, briefly glancing at the clock on the stove. 11:03. I need to hurry.

After rifling through Jack's kitchen for a solid few minutes, I find the ratty old thing under a stack of mail. Ew, bills. Ew, adult responsibility.

I go to Jack's key hooks and-

Ah, shit.

~~~

I exit Ammunation with my new pink sniper rifle. Never a bad thing to have two. I slip into Jack's hideous green jeep and take off, checking the watch I took from Jack's room while simultaneously trying not to crash and become a smear on a wall. 11:27. It's just a race against time at this point, which should be no problem.

I make it there in no more than ten minutes, and park two blocks away. I know which building Gavin's shooting from, so once he takes out the guards and parachutes down into the action, I'll take up his position and take out anyone trying to go in or out, and possibly bip some heads through any openings in the walls.

So I start my walk to the building, nervously glancing at my watch even though I know I'll be just fine. When I get to the building, I thank whoever may be watching over lil ol' me, because there's a fire escape leading right up to the top. I run up the steps, quick but quiet. Anyone who just so happens to look out their window right about now may be a bit alarmed, but this isn't the best part of the city, so I'm sure it's happened before. Besides, it's closing in on 11:50, and Gavin should be dropping down some time just after 12:00.

I slow down near the top, trying to quiet my heavy breathing before setting down a few steps below roof level. I take a quick peek over the edge, and see Gavin laying on his stomach, sniper propped against a small pile of bricks. His full focus is on his scope, squinting through with his finger ready on the trigger, occasionally sweeping the barrel along.

I sink back down below and rest on the steps. Now, I just need to listen for the muffled ping of his gun going off. Then I need to keep watch for him to jump, and get into position.

So, I wait.


	7. Your Eyes Stay Shut and My Screams Fall Faint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Everytime by Broods

I was meant to live this life. To feel the butt of a gun pressing into my shoulder. To shudder with the kickback. Breathe in. Tighten finger on trigger. Breathe out. Shoot.

Even when I'm just going about, living my other life as a normal civilian, I still feel the instinct to squeeze a trigger every time I take a deep enough breath. That's how much my job has become a part of me.

And when I perch on a rooftop, flat on my stomach, my scope targeted perfectly on a person's head, it's like there's a switch in my brain that has been suddenly turned off. There is no fear of dying like this. There is no doubt that I'll make the shot. There is no emotion to make me regret it all.

There is no feeling of dread and hopelessness.

I can casually be this close to the edge of a building, the barrel of a gun, and not want to walk off or put it to my head. Why would I? Isn't it great to be this alive? For every life I take, more is added to my own. It may sound sick and twisted, but it helps the guilt ebb away, until there's none left. Only pure adrenaline and the need to feel that kick of a gun just one more time. One more time. One more.

I pick off people as I see them. I don't care if they were trying to hurt my group, I just care that they won't even get the chance to think about it.

Finally, I see them. Gavin's the first one out, shouting something into a little microphone and earpiece set he's wearing. A van comes screeching around the corner just seconds later. Geoff is the next one out, Ryan right behind him, carrying a blindfolded girl in his arms. As Gavin hops in the passenger seat of their ride, Geoff opens the back doors, helping Ryan get the girl in. He's talking rapidly to someone over the headset, and suddenly, he's back out of the van, leaving Geoff and the girl behind as he runs back into the building.

_Michael._

It's Michael. Michael's hurt.

I stand up, slinging my sniper over my shoulder and turning to rush down the stairs. Except, I can't.

"Michael...?"

He's standing there, shoulders hunched, a furious look in his eyes, though his expression gives away nothing more. "Why'd you come here?"

"What do you mean? You're the one who told me about it. You-"

"I was the one who chained you down this morning." I look at him, my words frozen in my throat. He answers every question I would have asked, anyways. "I regretted telling you. I didn't want you to get hurt. Yet you show up anyways- God, I knew you would, too. I knew you'd find a way out of the chains. No matter what I did to keep you down, you would have broken free."

"I..."

"Why, Ray? Why are you such a goddamn suicidal bastard?" He takes a step towards me, his face breaking more into sadness now. "Why do you always try to rip yourself from my life. You're my best friend. I can't lose you, Ray." Another step. "I can't." Now he's walking towards me, fast, and I move to meet him halfway. "I ca-"

There's always a moment, when I pull the trigger of a gun, where everything speeds up. One moment, I'm perfecting my aim, and before I know it, I've taken the shot. It all happens in an instant.

When someone else shoots, it's the exact opposite.

Right now, everything is happening at micro speed. I can almost see the bullet wading through the air- yes, wading. Taking it's sweet time. It's on a steady path to it's target and it hasn't got a worry in the world. And Michael. He's leisurely strolling up to meet that bullet. When he does, time stops dilly-dallying, and now everything's too fast, way too fast, and Michael's on the ground with a hole in his chest.

"Michael!" Fuck fuck fuck. I run over to him and fall to my knees, immediately pressing my hand over the wound. With the other, I brush hair out of his face and gently slap his cheek. "Michael, come on man, if I can't do it to you, you can't do it to me. For fuck's sake. I need help, I-" My eyes catch the microphone and earpiece. I take it off of him and put it on myself. I hear the panicked voice of Geoff babbling about how Ryan's coming out without Michael.

"Geoff! Geoff, it's me, Ray. I-I came to help, I'm on the roof Gavin was on, and Michael, he-"

"Ray, what the fuck?! Where's Michael!" He yells back.

"He's with me! He's been shot. I need someone to help me, please. You can be mad at me later," I plead into the mic.

"Shit. MD, go help him bring Michael down to the van. We'll pull around into the alley."

"Got it," Ryan's deep, gruff voice comes in.

Now I have to wait. Fuck.

I take off my sweatshirt, then my shirt, and put the hoodie back on. Taking out my pocket knife, I cut a strip off my t-shirt, ball it up, and put pressure on Michael's heavily bleeding bullet hole. It's directly in his left shoulder. I just pray it didn't hit his heart.

I lean down, putting my ear close to his nose and mouth. Faintly- very, very faintly- I feel small puffs of air hitting my skin, and hear how rugged his breathing is.

"Stay with me, Michael," I beg, leaning back to look at him. I grip his hair, shaking his head. "Wake up. Come on. Let me know you're alive."

And now I know. God, it hits me like a train. _This is what it was like for him_. He was the one to drag me from the ocean the first time I jumped. He was the one to take me to Jack. He was the one to stay by my side every single day that I was unconscious, not knowing if I would wake up or if I would stop breathing.

Then there's footsteps behind me, and a person crouching over Michael opposite of me. I look up into the mask of the man who almost killed me a few days ago, and I wonder, _do I really trust him with my best friend?_ At this point, though, what choice do I have?

"We have to hurry," he says, and tucks one of his arms under Michael's back, and the other under his knees. "Go in front of me and shoot down anyone that might get in our way."

I take out my handgun, flicking off the safety. As I run ahead, down the stairs, I quickly load my gun. As we get closer to the bottom, I hear the squeal of tires. The van's here.

When we reach the bottom, making a breakaway for the vehicle, guys come running around the corner of the building, guns raised. Instinct kicks in. Emotions turns off. The switch is flipped once again. _I can't let them land another bullet on one of our men_. I lift my own gun, firing shot after shot, watching bodies fall as Ryan gets Michael into the back of the van where Geoff is waiting to help.

"Ray! Get in! We have to go now," Jack orders through the headset.

"What about no witnesses? They shot Michael, they deserve to die!" I keep shooting, but back up towards the rear doors of the van. They just keep coming, though.

"Get in!" Geoff screams, but before I can do anything, he's reaching out of the doors and dragging me in. Ryan closes them, locking me in.

"Bastards! We can't just leave them," I growl, trying to fight against Geoff's hold, but I feel so drained. So weak. Reality is crashing back down on me in brutal waves, but I can't just stop.

"Calm down, Ray, Gavin's got it covered," he promises, voice quiet and pensive. It sends a shock through my system. Makes me realize how loud and dumb I'm being.

As Jack starts driving off, I hear an explosion behind us. _Of course_ , I think. Grenades.

I relax against Geoff, not wanting to move away. Or move at all. He just lets me, rubbing the tense muscles between my shoulder blades, watching Ryan over my shoulder.

He's leaning over Michael, the little girl still tied up and blindfolded, almost forgotten in the corner of the van. Almost. I keep my eye on her as Ryan tends to Michael. She's not struggling, though, just moving her head, as if she can look around. There's no gag of tape over her mouth, but she stays quiet. Must be used to it. Jeez, and she's only, what, five or six?

She has Ryan's hair, very blonde and straight, but a more petite face and frame. I wonder if she has Ryan's eyes.

Speaking of eyes, mine feel kind of heavy.

I rest my head back on Geoff's shoulder. Once again, he says nothing, only gives my (good) shoulder a last comforting rub. My body aches and my mind is weary. I deserve a rest, right?

Michael will be okay. So will the little girl. So will all of us. We have to be.

~~~

I'm back home again. Huh. Seems like ages since I was last at my own house.

Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I look around my small, dark room. Obviously, it's just as I left it, piles of clothes and empty boxes of ammo and maps of the city. There's a medkit on one of my kitchen chairs beside my bed, meaning Jack must be here, or at least was for a little bit. Probably took me here so that he could have the guest room for Michael.

I stretch my arms up, realizing too late that it's probably not the brightest idea. I wince and hold my shoulder, feeling a soft, fresh bandage against my warm skin. Finally, I stand, making my way through the living room to the kitchen, where a figure is using my stove. He turns to look at me as I enter. Ryan. No mask, no paint.

"Morning. Take a seat, I'll bring you a plate when the pancakes are done," he offers, nodding towards my kitchen table. One of the four chairs is missing, and another is taken.

I take the seat across from her, and she looks up from her DS. Or, rather, my DS. Not that I mind. I smile at her, trying to come off friendly. "Hey, watcha playing?" She blinks at me, comprehending but not answering.

"Mario Party," Ryan replies for her, and the little girl nods.

"What's her name?"

"Dahlia. I like to call her Day."

I turn back to her. She's still blinking at me, DS neglected off to the side now. "Hey, Dahlia. Mind if I call you Day, too?" She doesn't speak. Doesn't nod, doesn't shake her head. Nothing. I glance back at Ryan. "Doesn't talk much, does she?"

He walks over, three plates of pancakes balanced on his hands and arms. "No. Never really did. Never really could. She was born mute."

I purse my lips. "Sorry."

He shrugs, sliding a stack of chocolate chip pancakes in front of me, then Dahlia, then sitting down with a plain stack himself. For the first time since I've seen her, the girl's expression changes. She smiles.

"Are chocolate chip pancakes your favorite?" I ask softly, and she nods without looking at me, slowly using a knife and fork to messily cut little pieces off. "Mine too. I hope your dad's a good cook." This time, she nods more vigorously, shoveling some pancakes into her little mouth, grinning by now.

When I look up, Ryan's just silently watching us, a thoughtful look in his eyes. He seems... Burdened. Maybe even upset. When he catches me staring, though, the emotion washes off his face instantly, and he carries on with eating his breakfast.

Once we've all finished, and Dahlia has gone to play more DS in the living room, I help Ryan with the dishes. At first, I keep my mouth shut. Not because I'm afraid to say anything. Just because... It's nice. The quiet. Only the soft sounds of Dahlia's game in the other room and the hushed clink of dishes in the soapy water. He washes, I dry and put them away. It's mundane.

These are the moments I wish that I wasn't born on the streets. And that I wasn't picked up by criminals, who trained me to be a weapon more than a human. I wish that I never ran away from them to pursue a life of being a sniper, paid as a hitman. I wish I met Ryan in some other scenario. Not just him- everyone in my new crew. Geoff, Jack, Gavin- _Michael_. Maybe if we'd all met in some other, less fucked up situation, I'd still be standing here. Washing dishes with Ryan. In a home, instead of a cramped apartment. With Dahlia in the next room over, babbling about her first day of school today. At dinner, after she'd come home and finished her homework, Ryan might ask, "Learn anything new?" And, of course, she'd respond with, "I don't know." Because that's what kids do, right? At her age?

But no. Instead, she can't talk. She can't go to school. And we just had to rescue her from her kidnapper.

Ryan- and Ryan's not always _Ryan_. He's the Vagabond. The Mad King. Ryan the creepy face paint guy. Ryan the mask guy. Ryan the murder guy.

And me? What have I become? Some suicidal bastard who's too afraid to live and too afraid to die.

This peace right now- it won't last. Why not be the first to break it? So I swallow the lump that's formed in my throat, and blink away whatever's gotten in my eyes, and let out my question. "What's wrong?" I hope my voice doesn't sound as raw and broken to him as it does to me.

"What do you mean?" He shoots back, too quick and too defensive. His guard is down. Usually he wouldn't let anything slip by.

"I can see it in your looks and hear it in your voice. Something's up. What is it?"

He lets out a strained breath. "Ahh. It's about... It's about Michael."

"What about him?"

I watch him anxiously nibble his lower lip, pulling it between his teeth roughly, releasing, and repeating. It's kind of mesmerizing. I flick my gaze up to his eyes to find him looking at me in confusion, and I realize I was staring at his lips for too long. Luckily, he shakes it off.

"Remember when I told you to trust me? No matter what happens?" I nod quickly to this, just wanting to know. "Michael was..." He trails off, eyes locked behind me. I turn, seeing Dahlia. "Hey sweetie, you need something?"

She holds out a phone. My phone. Ryan goes to take it from her, but before he can, she hands it to my outstretched hand. I bring it to my ear, heart pounding. Dread is pooling in my stomach. "Hello?"

"Hey, Ray," Jack mumbles. "I've, uh, been up all night, so I'm sorry if I sound kind of beat. I was, you know, trying to take care of Michael. Listen, Ray-"

A voice in the background cuts him off. A certain, british voice. They argue quietly for a minute, Jack obviously holding the receiver of the phone away from their conversation. Finally, after some bumps and rustling, Gavin's on the phone.

"Ray. What did Jack say?" He asks.

"Nothing much, just that he hadn't slept last night. Why?"

There's this feeling. I'm sure everyone, or at least most people, get it. It's just a semi-painful twist in the gut. It happens when the phone starts ringing at two in the morning. Or if there's a knock on the door after hearing sirens all night. Or hearing about a fatal car crash on the news. It's like a movie moment, where the tragic music starts to play, and everything else is silent. The person's face falls as the news is delivered, even though they already know. Of course they already knew. They got that feeling, too. The twist. The cold hand churning your insides.

I didn't have to ask why. I know. I guess it's just human instinct, though. To have hope. Until someone says otherwise, all a human can do is think that everything's okay until the last second. We grasp for something better, even though it's gone. It was never even there in the first place.

"I thought... I should be the one..." Gavin murmurs down the line.

My whole body is burning with a cold numbness. Every nerve feels both buzzed yet dead at the same time. I could be falling. I could be floating. I could be flying. I don't know. All I can do is clutch my phone in my hand- the phone he got me- and wait. Listen carefully for Gavin's devastated whisper.

"Michael's dead."

_Watch closely, Dahlia, because you're looking at the face of a man who has nothing to live for._

Except, I don't want her to have to see this. She's seen enough in her short life already, hasn't she? Though, the most I can really do is turn my back to her before I start to fall apart.

Distantly, I hear the sound of my phone hitting the floor. I want it to shatter. To not be real any more. But he bought one of those life-proof cases, didn't he?

I'm not too far after it, dropping to the tiles, my knees smashing painfully into them. I don't feel it, though.

And the last to fall are my tears. But... They don't come.

Because I _was_ born on the streets. I _was_ raised by criminals. I _was_ taught that to cry was to be weak. This _isn't_ some picket fence life I have here, no matter how calm it may have seemed only minutes ago. Dahlia _is_ mute. Ryan _is_ the Mad King. I _don't_ want to be alive.

And _Michael is dead._


	8. You Found Another Way to Keep Me Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aka the chapter where "and a few of them are just a little bit gay as well" part of the summary comes into play. So there's that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Breaking Up My Bones by Vinyl Theatre

The wind is sharp and bitter today, biting at my skin. It's usually never chilly in Los Santos, but right now, the sun is hidden behind thick grey clouds, and cool air has swept in from over the ocean.

I don't know why I forced it to be at the beach. Shouldn't I hate it? The last two times I'd been on this sand, I'd been half-dead or dying. I guess that's probably why, though.

His curls are neatly brushed, cascading around his face like an auburn frame. He wears a pressed suit, courtesy of Geoff. In his folded hands, over his chest, is a stitched emblem for our crew. Fake AH Crew. No idea where Gavin came up with it, but it's alright.

That poor Brit, though. Honestly, he took it almost as hard as me. I used to sneer at their relationship. Now I finally get just how much Gavin loves him.

Well... Loved.

They're more concerned about me, though, but I don't fully understand why. I've been okay. I haven't broken down like Gavin, or tried to hurt myself- nothing like that. I'm just too numb to feel the pain. Isn't that a good thing in a situation like this? Wouldn't feeling nothing be better than feeling pain? Yet they hover over me, like scientists inspecting their latest experiment. It's terrible.

Dahlia's probably the worst. All she does is sit and stare- at _me_. It's unsettling, because she does, in fact, have her father's piercing blue eyes. Whenever I ask what's up, she just shakes her head.

She's here today. Her gaze is locked on Michael for now, though. His cold, pale, lifeless body. It makes a shiver run down my spine, and I want to curl in on myself to get away from the weird chills and swirls of regret.

"Ray?" I jump, looking up at Geoff, who stands over Michael. "You're the only one who hasn't said anything yet. Do you want to...?"

I shake my head, my throat suddenly feeling too tight to even utter a simple no.

Michael's dead.

Gone.

No coming back from it. Not this time.

_This time is for good._

I can't seem to breathe any more. Geoff is closing the dark wooden casket over Michael's face. I can't let him. This can't be the last time I see my best friend's face.

As I surge forward, a strong arm wraps around my waist, then another across my shoulders, and I'm being held back against someone's chest.

"Let me go!" I spit, twisted and kicking out in the vice-like hold I'm in. "You can't do this. Michael!" I strain and struggle, but whoever's holding me- Ryan, most likely- is not letting me go.

I hear his laughter in my head. He rarely ever lost control, but when he did, he giggled like a little girl.

"Please don't do this," I beg as the lid of the casket is closed. My fight is wearing thin. I don't know how much longer I can keep it up. He just... We never even got a goodbye... Nothing.

I remember, a few years after we first met, we were fifteen. He came to my house, hiding his face at first. When I finally saw him- red eyes, quivering lips, bruises on his cheekbones- I knew his piece of shit dad had finally laid a hand on him and his mom. It was the first I'd seen him cry.

"God, you bastard," I growl at Geoff, who doesn't answer, only assists Jack with lowering the casket into the sandy ground. Buried very, very, _very_ deep. If he ends up being alive- fuck, he couldn't even scream for help. No one would hear him that far down. He'd be buried alive, dying of dehydration and starvation and- "Don't go," I whisper one last time, before I fall limp in Ryan's arms.

And then there was the last time Michael cried. No tears were shed between the first and last. I just recall waking up to Jack leaning over me, hands on my chest. Reviving me. He backed away when he saw my blinking eyes, my mouth frozen in a sharp inhale, feeling breathless and woozy and lightheaded, but I still saw Michael sitting there next to me. The tiniest of tears streaming down from the corners of his chestnut eyes. I think I smiled at him, then passed out from lack of oxygen in my brain.

I have nothing left to give. Dirt and sand slowly cover what's left of a boy I loved like a brother. A boy I knew better than I know myself. And I can't do anything about it. He's gone. I'm not. I don't get why him, why not me, but this is the hand I've been dealt, and I guess I'll have to play it.

Or... Or I could fold.

~~~

The ride home is spent with Gavin crying quietly, Geoff giving him a 'Things Will Be Okay' speech, and me in the backseat having an existential crisis.

Back to the cards metaphor. My brain just won't let it go. Can't stop thinking about it.

Life is like poker, apparently. Except... I can't even look at my hand. I just have to decide. I can reveal them to myself, slowly, one by one... Or I could put them on the table, facedown. Give up. Not even check. Quit the game.

And goddammit, it's not even strip poker.

Not unless I make it strip poker.

I eye Gavin warily. Then Geoff. Think of Jack and Ryan. I mean... Maybe...? Nah.

No. _No_. Clearly, I'm not in my right mind at the moment.

"Hey, Geoff?" I ask tentatively. The man seems shocked that I spoke, and just gives me a raised eyebrow in the rearview mirror. "I don't want to be alone. I don't think I should."

"I could come stay with you," Gavin offers. "Michael and I shared a place, but I have to sell it now that I don't have anyone to pay the other half of the bills..."

"Thanks, Gav."

I turn to look out the window again, watching the first drops of rain hit the glass, and slide down like it's crying for us.

I'm surprised Gavin offered, though. Michael was pretty much the only reason we ever really knew each other. We both lost him, though, so maybe it'll drive us together. No one could ever replace him, but maybe Gavin will become a good friend now. Maybe I won't be completely alone.

I'm just afraid, honestly. Michael's death struck us- struck him so hard... What if we do become close friends? Then what'll happen to the other if one of us dies? It's not like I can suddenly say never mind, though. They'd think I'd want to be alone so I can kill myself. Which, well, may not be far off, but...

"Actually," I blurt out before I can stop myself. "Can he stay with you, Geoff? I don't want to be in my own house. Too many memories. Too many ghosts," I babble a bit. "I think I might ask to stay with..." _Oh, god. Quick, Ray, think. Who wouldn't get attached? Who wouldn't be hurt? Who wouldn't care?_ "R- ah, MD." He sharply hits the breaks a bit, causing me to jolt forwards, but he recovers quick, so I'm immediately thrown back again. "Jesus, what the fuck, man?"

"You wanna ask the _Mad King_ if you can _stay with him_? You do remember that talk we had not too long ago, right?" He asks incredulously, giving me a concerned glance over his shoulder.

Shit. Right. He knows Ryan shot me. Then again, he was also the one who said that he didn't want to hurt me.

"I thought about what you said. You're right. He saved me. He's not going to do anything to me," I insist, keeping an eye on a very confused Gavin. He can't know.

"Whatever. Just be careful, alright? You don't know him as well as you think you do."

We meet eyes in the rearview mirror, only for a split second, but I get the message. I ignore it, pulling out my phone to dial Ryan's number, hoping I don't regret this decision.

~~~

I forgot about Dahlia, when I asked to stay with him a few days ago. She still does that staring thing of hers. It's still unsettling.

Ryan thinks it's endearing. "She's just interested by you. Take it as a compliment," he tried to convince me.

Yeah, I don't know, something about the stoic, unchanging expression makes me second guess that. She just taps away on my DS, all the time, hardly even looking at the screen. Looking anywhere but, really.

"Thanks for giving that to her," Ryan says suddenly, as I watch her play.

"It's no big deal. Thought I lost it ages ago. I have no idea where she found it. Her find, her keep," I shrug, not really missing the old thing. "I should be thanking you for you letting me stay here."

When I look over, he's staring off, out the kitchen window above the sink. "It's nothing. Less quiet. I... Like the company."

"It's a nice place," I comment, truly meaning it. Bigger than I'd think for someone who used to live alone. Good thing it is larger, though, now that he has his daughter back and me to give housing to. "I hope I'm not too much trouble."

"Like I said, it's nice to have the company." He looks at me, a small smile gracing his lips. It's strange, seeing him like this. Face clear of masks and paint. Smiling, even. Wearing a plain blue t-shirt and faded jeans that look like they've seen better days. He just looks like a normal American dad, all blonde hair, blue eyes.

Most dads aren't serial killers, though. Most don't have to retrieve their kidnapped daughter from one of the biggest crime bosses of the south. Most don't have to be in prime physical condition in order not to be killed every day.

And- wait, how did I start thinking of Ryan's body? I mean, it's hella fine, yeah. I decided days ago that I'd so tap that. However, I also decided days ago that no matter how much of a DILF he is... And, god, is he a dad I'd like to fuck... I can't. I can't make ties like that.

"Ray?"

I startle, eyes focusing back into the real world. "Yeah?"

"I think Day wants you."

I look over at the kitchen's entrance, and she's standing there, holding out my open DS. Cautiously, I take it from her. It's opened to PictoChat.

'You were never meant to be sentient.'

My heart skips a beat, and I slowly hand the device back to her. She doesn't say anything. Doesn't change expression. Just turns and walks back into the living room to plop down on the couch and continue playing her game.

"What was that all about?" Ryan asks, after silently spectating.

"I'm not entirely sure," I admit, a strange feeling in my gut that makes my heart stutter weirdly in my chest. "But she's got good vocabulary. How old is she again?"

"Five."

"Shit, man. How'd she learn to write like that?"

"Absolutely no idea."

The unease filling my system just gets worse and worse as the conversation goes on, so I don't reply. Instead, I leave the kitchen lock myself in the spare bedroom. My room, for the time being. It's not until at least a half hour before Ryan leaves, his heavy footsteps followed by lighter ones. I take out my phone, flicking quickly through my contacts before landing on Gavin.

"Hey, Ray, what's up?"

"Help."

~~~

Being drunk isn't all it's chalked up to be. In fact, it's kind of shitty. Though, I guess it all depends on what kind of drunk you are. Party drunk, sexual drunk, talkative drunk.

Depressed drunk.

First time drinking and I gotta say, ten out of ten, would not do again.

"Is this real life?" I mumble into Gavin's shoulder.

He nudges me off a bit, looking kinda scared and _very_ miserable. "I made a mistake," he sighs to himself, but I still hear it. Rude.

"MD is such a fucking DILF, man," I tell him, ignoring my previous question. That can be saved for other times. Sober times. Lord knows I'm not touching alcohol again after this.

"Yeah? You fancy him?" He asks, waggling his eyebrows at me. What a british prick. No.

"No," I repeat aloud, just as sternly as it was in my head. "Well, yes, but not in the way you're suggesting."

"And what way am I suggesting?"

"I don't... It's not like a one night stand thing, you know? If I get with him once, if he would even want me, then I'd get with him twice. Then three times. Then probably endless times. I don't want strings attached."

"So, if the opportunity does come around, just say that. No strings attached. Simple concept, I'm sure he understands it."

"No- I don't want to do it if it's no strings attached. I don't want to risk having strings attached, though." I rub my forehead tiredly with the heel of my hand. "Ugh, too many strings are getting too damn tangled."

"Don't hurt yourself, there," Gav cautions smugly, knowing that my brain is struggling to grasp anything at this point.

"This is your fault, asshole."

"Yeah," he admits, voice depressed. "Yeah, it is."

"We should kiss."

I feel him tense next to me. Sober me would be thinking, _what the fuck are you doing, he just lost his boyfriend_. The drunk, and currently active, me is thinking, _yeah, well, I just lost my best friend._

"Thought you only went after mass murdering psychopaths?" The brit jokes lamely, turning his body towards me nervously, licking his lips.

"I can settle for a sniper."

He's tipsy, not drunk. He can stop this if he wants to. But he's not. He's holding my jaw. Tilting it closer. Why isn't he stopping it? Why aren't I?

My head jerks back suddenly, but only by a small amount. I meet his wide, nervous green eyes. "Will this... Will this be weird?"

"Probably," he admits quietly, but his gaze keeps falling to my lips.

"Why are you letting this happen?" I wonder aloud to him.

He shrugs, a small grin flitting over his face. "Curious."

"About wha-" I never get to finish my sentence, as he pushes himself closer to me and captures my lips with his own.

It's strange, at first. Unfamiliar, so we take a second to just stay, mouths together, closed and careful and gently sliding. When we finally become relaxed and pliant enough to slip our tongues in, I expect to taste beer. Instead, it's just... Gavin. Completely sober Gavin. I don't care, though. Not as my fingers hesitantly reach for his hair, and his hands rest at my bony hips. It's nice. It's weird. It's kind of... Right. But also kind of wrong.

He's toying with the belt loops of my jeans, and as our mouths slide hotly against each others, I wonder just how far he means to take this. And _why._

My answer walks through the door. Literally.

It's like I touched a live wire, the way I jolt and jump away from a frazzled but satisfied looking Gavin. I'm not really focusing on him, though, but the person who just came home.

Ryan looks livid.

"You know, if you were going to-" He gestures messily towards us, growling in frustration. "You could have sent me a text or, fuck, _something_."

Dahlia, who trudges in behind him, looks up from her DS in confusion. When she sees us, though, how we are, she seems just as angry as her dad. She can't possibly understand, though, can she?

"Wow, you were right, Ray. Major DILF," Gavin approves quietly. Oh god, when did I tell him _that_? _Like two minutes ago, Suddenly Sober Ray, weren't you paying attention?_

"I'm never drinking again," I groan, leaning my head back. Gavin just pats my shoulder, stands, and walks out, squeezing past Ryan and Day. I can tell Ryan says something to him as he passes, but I can't catch actual words. Only _touch_ and _dead_. Sounds like necrophelia, which, no, don't ever do that. Then he slams the door behind him, making me flinch yet again. Ugh, everything is too loud.

He walks over, standing above me, a strange look on his face. "Thought you didn't drink."

"Thought you didn't show people your face."

"Thought you weren't going to be sucking face."

I nod lazily. "Fair point."

"Listen..." He starts, crossing his arms and looking to the side. Away from me. "Why don't you go home."

It's not a question. More of an accusation, of sorts. As if sensing the pending argument, Dahlia walks into her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

"I don't want to be alone," I answer plainly, and it's true. As much as I really want to just extract myself from anyone who might get close to me, I don't want to be completely isolated, either. If I went home alone, I'd never go out again. Honestly, I'd probably die in that house within a day or two.

"Isn't Gavin staying with Geoff? Why doesn't he stay with you. That way I don't have to walk in on you and him with your tongues down each other's throats," he spats.

I stand up, shoving at his chest- albeit uncoordinatedly. _Don't hurt yourself, Drunk Ray, you've still got alcohol in your system, remember_. "We're not even like that. I don't want Gavin to think we are."

"Then why the fuck were you just kissing him?"

"Why the fuck do you care?"

"I don't want my daughter to accidentally walk in on you two fucking-"

I shove at him again, harder this time, actually making him take a stumbling step back. His arms come uncrossed, and his hands are suddenly up, defensive. "I told you, _it's not like that_. Even if it was, I haven't felt a damn thing since Michael died. I'm empty. So what if I want to feel _something_ , for fuck's-"

"I'm right here."

I blink in surprise, taking a step away from him. "I-" My mouth shuts on it's own, and I'm forced to swallow the lump in my throat. "What do you mean?"

And suddenly, he's closer, the hard planes of his body pressing flat against my bony ridges. I teeter for a moment, the abrupt proximity almost making me fall backwards, but his hands quickly take hold on my waist, and I grip his biceps to keep steady. _So close._

Something in his eyes have changed, though. If they hadn't, we would be in a compromising and suggestive position.

However, everything about this has just become dangerous.


	9. Now I Got You in My Space (I Can't Let Go of You)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: La La Latch by Pentatonix (Mitch's high notes though mmmmmm Avi's bass MMMMMMM everything about it)  
> I'm a Latin student so whenever I see Avi's name, I can't help but pronounce it weird (like I would avia or vir or any "v" in the Latin language- like a "w")

So far away.

He was so close, but now he's so far away.

I'm shivering, and I'm not sure whether it's in fear, or from the loss of his warm body pressed tight against my own. Meanwhile, he's leaning heavily against the wall, broad shoulders so tense they're nearly vibrating.

I know it's dumb. I know it's insane. But I take a step towards him. And another. And a few more until I'm right behind him. _The Mad King wouldn't have pulled away. Or, at least, he wouldn't have a week ago. He's changing_. So, tentatively, I wrap my arms around him from behind, resting my forehead on his shoulder blade.

"You really are suicidal, aren't you?" He laughs humorlessly, the sound vibrating through me.

"Kind of, yeah," I reply hoarsely, there's another shudder running down his back.

There's a break of silence, in which I feel the rise and fall of his breaths. "Don't be."

It's funny, really, how a few simple words can mend or break a heart in an instant. This time, though, I don't know what the feeling in my chest is. Whether it's joy because someone actually cares, or remorse for the same reason. Wasn't this what I was trying to avoid?

"Why do you do it, Ray? Jump off bridges, throw yourself into danger. Why do you want to die?" His voice wavers ever so slightly on the last word, and it makes my chest tighten even further.

"I'm just scared. I'm weak. Sometimes I want to take the easier route. It's a never-ending loop of not wanting to die and not wanting to survive." I draw my arms from around him, backing off and crossing them insecurely. "Michael's gone now. Who's next? That's the worst part. Not knowing. Makes my stomach tie in knots."

He turns, but doesn't approach. "We're doing a quick job tomorrow, you know that." I nod, unease settling over me. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you."

"Don't," I immediately protest. "Don't promise something like that. You're not putting yourself at risk just to make sure I don't do something stupid."

"I won't be. Trust me, Ray. I don't like you _that_ much," he jokes, but it sounds weird coming from him. Despite that, I smile a little anyways. "At least take me on a date before you expect me to take a bullet for you. Dinner. Fancy wine. The whole shebang." I raise an eyebrow, a grin slowly splitting across my face. "Oh, and I expect flowers. Every lady such as myself deserves flowers."

"Ryan..." He nods, a smirk in place. "You're absolutely fucking insane, you know that, right?"

He shrugs. "Being mentally stable is boring." He walks to Dahlia's bedroom, knocking gently on the door. "Come on, Day, we're going out again." Now he addresses me, "Get ready."

"What...?"

"That dinner date. Plus one."

I shake my head, but oblige and put on my shoes. "Fucking weirdo."

~~~

Belly down on the rooftop of a 7-eleven kind of feels like home to me, oddly enough. My whole body is pleasantly warm, the sun high in the clear sky today. I'll probably regret wearing a black t-shirt later, but at the moment, I can't really complain.

"Is everyone in position?" Geoff asks over the headset, and a chorus of affirmations follows it. After Ryan's whole getting-back-his-daughter thing, he's let Geoff be the one to take charge. No one really minds- in fact, we find it for the best, and enjoy him as our leader. There's just a calm sense of 'I've done this a thousand times and seen every bad outcome, and I won't let any of them happen to us.'

I startle as I hear my own name in my ears, quickly answering, "Sorry, hi, what?"

Geoff sighs, and I can just imagine him rolling his eyes at me. "You're ready, right?"

"Yeah. Though, if you guys do your jobs right for once, you won't really need me, now will you?"

"Ah shut the fuck up," he mutters fondly. "Keep a sharp eye. Jack and Ryan are going in."

"It's hard to 'keep a sharp eye' when you just rolled a smoke bomb in there," I retort, earning another _shut the fuck up._

"I'm following them in now," he reports, but is half-interrupted by Gavin's sigh.

"I'm bored."

"Don't distract them, Gav," I chide, and get another sigh from him. He breathes out something along the lines of _I've always hated being the DD_ or something.

I chuckle quietly, turning my attention back to what's going down inside the corner store, squinting through the scope. Ryan's got the innocent shoppers in a line, gun out, sweeping the row of terrified people. It's not good to think about things like that, but I know how terrified they must be, and I almost feel bad. I brush it off, though, finding Geoff holding a gun towards the clerk, and Jack scouring the cash register. What none of the three men notice is the way the clerk's shaking hand is ever so slowly searching a shelf that must be below the counter.

"Geoff, Jack, get down!" I order in a shout, watching them both jump in surprise, give each other a look, and run to duck behind two different shelves just as the man behind the counter pulls out a gun and tries to fire at their retreating backs. More untrained shots, whizzing dangerously close to Ryan. "MD, he's-" But he's already two steps ahead of me, spinning around and not hesitating to shoot, landing a bullet in the man's chest. Crimson begins to paint his otherwise crisp white shirt as he falls, and in the background of Ryan's mic, I hear the civilians gasping, one even screaming.

They must be making an escape, because suddenly, the room is clouded with smoke again. All I hear is chaos. Screaming, crying, begging, and- oh god, what was _that_? A slick sound of _someone_ being impaled by _something_. A choking noise. A few beats of utter silence. I keep a close eye on the door, and every second they don't come out makes my heart slowly begin to quicken its pace.

My pulse jumps to my throat as the doors swing open, Geoff urgently holding them open for Ryan, who... Has Jack... Over his shoulder.

Realizing I'm wasting time, I run to the side of the building I'm on, to where Gavin's van waits in an alley. I drop down onto the roof of the vehicle, then swing down to the ground, sliding open the side door as Ryan rushes over. With Geoff's help, we maneuver him gently inside. He doesn't look too bad, just a bit pale and unconscious. Though, there's what seems to be a metal rod sticking shallowly out of his side.

Geoff hops in, quickly giving orders. "Ryan, you need to help me. He can't be jostled too much, we don't know how close this thing is to any vital organs. Ray-"

"It's all good," I promise, closing the door firmly behind Ryan after he gets in. Instead of going around to the passenger seat, I simply hop onto the car and hold onto the roof. Gavin doesn't waste any time, screeching away.

I look behind us, noticing we already have a of police after us. I tap on the window in front of my stomach, feeling roll down. "Yo, MD, we got any rocket launchers in the back?" After a bit of shuffling, a weighted piece of metal is placed in my hand, and maneuvered hazardously out the window.

"Boom," I murmur, blasting the cars behind us. I turn to look forwards again. Cool guys don't look at explosions, right?

~~~

The bathroom tiles are cold beneath my mostly bare legs. It's nearly freezing to the touch. It feels nice against my feverish skin, though.

I don't know why, but when I found Jack was... That he wasn't waking up... _Coma, maybe_... I just felt weak. Ill. I feel uncomfortably warm, but not burning. A fever I can't sweat out, simply because I'm not hot enough to.

So I lay down, trying to cool down instead of burn up, and rest my cheek on the chilled floor. Why's it so cold in here?

There's a knock at the door, and I try to ask who it is, but it just slips out as an unintelligible groan. A sigh escapes from whoever is out there, and then the familiar sound of a lock being picked hits my ears. It's a simple lock, in which just some jostling around with a paperclip could do the trick, so the click of it unlocking is quick to come. The door hits my foot when it opens, but it doesn't hurt, so it's whatever.

"Ray?" Ryan asks, and I hear the slight cracks in his joints as he crouches next to my curled up body. I should feel embarrassed by the fact that I only wear boxers, and boxers only, but today... It's not my lanky, sticklike figure that's bothering me.

"We're all just getting picked off, aren't we?" I suggest, not opening my eyes or moving a muscle other than my mouth. "Michael first. Jack seconds. Who's next? I have a sick feeling it'll be us two who are left in the end," I admit, a frown in my voice. "Between the two of us, which one will be the last to go?" Finally, I open my eyes, turning my head to look up at him.

He's gazing down at me, a sad look in his brilliant eyes. "You're a mess, Ray. Let's just... Let's just get you to bed."

He goes to take my hand, but I jerk it away, sitting up on my own. "I almost did it, you know."

He studies me, scrutinizing my expression. "What?"

"I never even thought about it before. Seems like a thing dumb teenagers do when they're sad, right? Hurt themselves."

"Ray-"

"I'm not going to," I promise, suddenly quiet. I stare down at my hands, twisting anxiously in my lap. Every small glimpse of my pale, unmarked wrist makes me feel sick. I'm not like that. I won't make myself like that. It's so stupid and childish to even think about.

"I know," he says, gently taking hold of my arm, pulling me to my feet. "Let's go."

"You're different," I tell him as we make our way towards my room. The whole house is dark, so I cling close to him, not wanting to run into anything. It must be late. "Now that I'm part of your home life. I see it now. Who you really are. You don't try to hide it from me any more."

"No reason to."

"You're more controlled."

"No, actually. I just don't let you see when I'm not."

"Ryan," I start, pausing in the doorway to my room. "That takes control. You're not like you were. You're a better man. I don't know if it's Dahlia, I don't know it it's our crew, I don't know if- I just don't know. But it's not a bad thing, so stop getting defensive like it is."

"I'm not-"

I raise an eyebrow, knowing exactly what he was about to say, and he shuts his mouth. "Goodnight, Ryan," I finalize, turning and walking to my bed, hearing my door close. When I look back, though, he's still there, leaning against it. "What?" I ask, taking an old t-shirt from my- still not unpacked- bag. He comes closer, right into my personal space, and I back up. Only, there's nowhere to go, really, as my back hits a wall. "Ryan...?"

"You're an asshole, you know that?" He chuckles quietly, leaning down, and I can feel his slight stubble as it brushes against cheek. I feel his smile against jaw, just faintly.

"What-"

"Just- shut up, Ray." Not that I can really form words that would make sense right now.

He draws back, looking into my eyes, and I feel almost overwhelmed as I search the intentions in his baby blue irises. It doesn't really matter, though, what he's about to do. It doesn't scare me. My thoughts just... Disappear the closer he gets.

It isn't the same as it was with Gavin. With him, my senses were blurred by alcohol. This moment, the seconds before, they weren't as slow. Weren't as filled with anxious anticipation. No weird fluttering in my stomach. My heart definitely wasn't going this fast. As if brought on by the memory of when my heart was last this fast, my shoulder gets a sudden, subtle ache in it. I don't mind it.

"Ray, is this-"

"Ryan?"

"I... Yeah?"

"Just shut up."

My hand reaches up, finding his soft blonde hair, and I allow my fingers to slip into the locks before pulling him the last few inches to make our mouths meet.

His lips are... Surprisingly soft. Surprisingly gentle. Even as he tilts his head, kisses me harder, it's as if I'm fragile. One wrong move and I'll break beneath him. His hands on my waist are hesitant, frozen in place, too afraid to move.

We break, only for a second, and I suck in a breath. On the way out, it turns into a desperate, " _Ryan_."

I meet his mouth again, this time rougher, tugging carefully on his hair. His hands grip me tighter, fingertips cool against my heated bare skin. When his tongue traces my lower lip, I open my mouth for him, and it's a whole new experience. The fight for dominance is easily won by him, and I let it happen, letting him push me harder against the wall. The denim of his jeans feel rough against my thighs as he slips a leg between them. I'm so dizzy. I'm drowning. Everything is too much and not enough all at once.

 _This_ is what I expect. Pressure all around me, sharing breaths, nipping at my bottom lip. He's gliding his fingers over my sides, my ribs, back down to my hips and my thighs and fuck, he leaves a trail of fire everywhere he goes, until my whole body is burning with his touch.

We separate with a soft sound, and I tilt my head back against the wall, catching my breath. He immediately goes for my exposed neck, nipping and licking all the way down to my collarbone, where he latches on, alternating between sucking, biting, and soothing it with that sinful tongue of his.

"Fuck, Ry," I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut.

"God, I wish I could just tear you apart right now," he sighs, resting his forehead on my shoulder, pressing little kisses in my skin. Before I can even protest, start begging him to, he's shaking his head. "But I can't." He leans back, taking in my no doubt flushed face and heavy eyelids. There's a soft smirk on his face, knowing that he did this to me. There's fear in his eyes, though, and eventually, his grin fades. "What does this mean for us?"

I close my eyes, running a hand through my hair. "It means whatever we let it mean." When I look at him again, his head his down. Gently, I massage his shoulder, but he quickly moves away, letting my hand fall. It hurts me more than it should. "Don't be like this, Ryan. Don't do this. Don't brush this off. Not when you're the one who started it." _What are you doing, Ray?_ "Don't walk away. Don't act like it never happened." _No, no, isn't that what you want?_ "Don't let this mean nothing."

He meets my eyes, and what I see in them scares me.

Pain. Guilt. _Regret._

He starts backing away. "No," I plead, lurching forward, grabbing his wrist. "Ryan, no, please."

"Ray, we can't," he whispers, voice cracking. Suddenly, though, his sad eyes change. They harden. "We can't," he repeats, pulling his arm away.

"I'm not made of glass, Ryan. You won't hurt me. You won't break me. You won't-"

"But you might hurt me, Ray. _You_ might break _me_." He reaches the door, turning to open it. With his back to me, he spits out one last thing. "I know you. But you sure as hell don't know me."

He slams the door behind him, but I don't hear him walk away. He remains just outside the door for a few seconds. Then a few seconds become a minute. An imperceptible amount of time passes before I finally hear his footsteps walking away. And here I was, actually hoping he'd come back. Explain how any of what he just said makes sense, because my mind can't unscramble itself.

What if we hadn't stopped? Would I have just woken up to an empty bed? Cold sheets that told me he'd been gone all night? Would I have walked into the kitchen the next morning, seen Dahlia sitting there, alone. When I asked her where he was, she would shake her head. _He's gone_.

Or... Maybe he'd have stayed. Brushed my hair back when he woke up next to me, causing me to blink at him blearily without my glasses, not even mad that he woke me up. Maybe he'd have... Maybe...

That's all it is though, right? Just a bunch of maybes. I'll never know. All I know is that I'll be sleeping alone tonight, my core chilled with the fact that he doesn't want me any more.

I crawl into bed countless minutes after he'd gone, staring wide-eyed up at the blank ceiling, knowing I won't be able to catch any sleep tonight. I should try, though, because tomorrow...

I'll have to move out tomorrow, won't I?

I'm getting what I originally wanted, right? Nothing to tie me to him. Nothing to tie me to anyone.

But what if I changed my mind.


	10. Oh Please Don't Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Please Don't Go by Barcelona  
> I really recommend this one, guys. That's all.

It's dark. Cold. Quiet. Almost like I'm just trapped in oblivion.

My phone buzzed endlessly all weekend. I think I smashed it against the wall at some point, because it stopped.

The doorbell rang many times a day, so when there was a pause, I went out, unscrewed it from the wall, and disabled it.

I muffle the knocking with headphones, blasting my music.

I'm surprised none of them have tried to break in. Maybe because I pushed heavy furnature up against the doors and windows. _Or maybe they just don't care enough._

I know it's bad for me. It's just making things worse. I can't make myself get out of bed, though. Can't force myself to answer the door or phone or go outside or anything, really.

Why do I do this? I can't even explain it myself. I just... Don't want to be here any more. I don't want to be anywhere.

~~~

I must have fallen asleep, lulled by the music drowning my ears. I can faintly hear a voice above it, but I can't discern any words. I'm almost too afraid to take off my headphones. I've been ignoring everything else this weekend, why should I pay attention to this?

I close my eyes again, sinking into my sheets. They feel a lot colder than before I lived with Ryan. Less like home.

~~~

Seems like my playlist reached the end, because there's silence in my ears, and I was able to hear the shatter of glass. I sit bolt upright, tearing my headphones off and tucking them, and my iPod, away.

I quickly pad my way to the bathroom. A stream of morning light filters in from my- now shattered- window, leading to a brick on the floor. When I look back up, Gavin's face is there.

"Gavin? I- How can I see you, that window is wicked high?" I ask, voice cracking from disuse.

"Help!"

"Is that Geoff?"

"Yup," Gavin replies, shifting a bit on his feet. I hear a groan come from beneath him, and then he's smirking.

"Asshole," Geoff grunts.

"What do you want?" I deadpan, picking up the brick and weighing it in my hand.

"We're worried. Ryan's gone on a murder break. And Jack's.... I'm sure Jack would want you there when he wakes up," Gavin insists, voice going softer at the end.

" _If_ he wakes up," I say coldly, making the Brit frown.

"You can't do this, Ray. We're all worried sick. We make this effort just to talk to you, and you're being a total dick."

"Well, sorry, but I didn't ask for your concern."

"That's what friends do! They fucking care! Do you not care about _us_? Because, obviously, we sure as hell care about you," he spits.

"I didn't ask for you friendship, either, did I?"

His jaw sets, and suddenly, he lurching forward, trying to shove himself through the tiny window. He hisses as fragments of glass push against his sides, but he's determined.

"Gavin, what the fuck are you doing? You're going to get hurt!" Geoff shouts, and there's little huffs as he attempts to tug him back.

I back out of the bathroom, slamming the door and looking around for something to put against it. Finally, I drag my dresser from across the hall to sit in front of the door. When I'm done, I lean against it, exhausted despite having just woken up. Gavin tends to wear people out, doesn't he?

~~~

"Ray."

I look towards the bathroom door, curling back farther into the couch. "Whoever's there, go away."

"Don't make me take drastic measures, Ray."

"There is absolutely no way you can get in, so... Do your worst," I challenge, now recognizing the voice as Ryan. Why is he even here. Why does he even try.

I hear a loud bang, and the house rattles a bit. I sit up straighter, looking around. _What the fuck?_ Another bang. Another shudder. A smack. A grunt. Then my bathroom door opens.

Ryan sticks his head out over the dresser, looking down the short hall to where I visibly sit on my living room couch. "You do know that this door swings in, not out... Right?" I glare at him, before turning my head. "I'll take that as a no." I hear him pushing the dresser out of the way, and then his footsteps approaching, hushed by the carpet. He stands right in front of me. "Look at me, Ray."

"Leave, _Ryan_."

He sighs, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him cross his arms. "Don't make me regret telling you my name."

"I can forget it if you'd like me to. Won't be that hard."

"Ouch, what's with the vinegar?"

I roll my eyes, glaring at him. "Maybe the fact that you broke into my home when, clearly, I want to be alone."

"Do you really, though?"

I suck in a sharp breath, hardening my gaze even further. "Yes."

He chuckles humorlessly. "Do you honestly think I believe that?" He wonders quietly, and I turn away. He gently grabs my chin, though, forcing me to look up at him. He opens his mouth, as if he's about to speak, but slowly closes it after a moment. His thumb softly grazes my jaw, and I swallow the lump in my throat. "Don't take your life away from me."

At that, all my anger drains, and I jerk my head free. Resting my elbows on my knees, I lean forwards and rest my face in my hands. My whole body is vibrating with urge to just... Cry. Scream. Let everything I've been feeling out. Expel it and never let it return.

But I think I've lost the ability to shed even a single tear, and my voice doesn't seem to work.

The couch dips next to me, and there's a warm, comforting hand at the base my spin, rubbing is slow circular motions. "I'm... Sorry, Ray," he tries to apologize- and for what, I'm not sure- but I just shake my head. After that, he remains silent, just continuing the motion of his hand.

It could be seconds, minutes, hours- god knows how long, but eventually, the tightness in my chest disperses, and I'm able to sit up. Ryan's looking at me with surprisingly caring, sad eyes. I can't handle it. "Please, for fuck's sake, don't look at me like that," I beg, voice but a whisper.

His eyebrows draw together, and he tilts his head. "Like what?"

"Like I'm broken."

He looks down, running a hand through his hair. It looks messier than usual, as if he's been doing that all day now. "You're not. I know you're not."

I bite my lip, studying his expression. "Why did you come here?"

When he looks up again, he's smiling slightly. "Jack's awake."

~~~

Ryan's not smiling now.

"When you said he was awake, I thought you meant awake and... And alright," I comment quietly, gripping Jack's hand. His face is contorted in pain, his lower lip red from biting down so hard, trying to hold back whimpers.

"I'm fine," he grits out. "Really."

Even Dahlia, sitting quietly on her DS, makes a scoffing sound.

"You had a knife twisted in your gut... You used all your painkillers on me and Michael... You're not fine."

His eyes, which were just squeezed shut, suddenly open. "Michael."

I frown, trying to shake the nostalgia already pulling at my heart. "Yeah, well, it was a waste. He died anyways."

"No, Ray- _Michael_ ," he strains, his breathing getting heavier. "It's her, Ray." His eyes flick to Ryan. "It's _her_."

"Michael was a boy...?" Ryan states, though, it's actually more of a question.

Jack makes a choking noise, gripping my hand tighter, until it feels like the bones of my fingers are being crushed. It seems like he can't breathe. "Jack! Fuck, Ry- MD, uh, shit, what do we do?! He's not getting oxygen!"

"I-I don't think there's anything we _can_ do," he admits in a stammer, rushing to the bedroom door to call for Geoff and Gavin.

Jack uses his hold on my hand to pull me down close to him, and chokes out, "I'll find you."

Geoff and Gavin barge in, just as Jack's grip slackens in my own. I keep holding on, though, searching his eyes. "Jack, no no no, what do you mean?"

"D-D-" He coughs, once, and hard. Then he's limp against the pillows. His eyes half close. Glaze over. His mouth forms one last, silent word that I'll never get to know.

He becomes still.

My heart is hammering in my chest. This feeling. It's so familiar. I don't want it to be.

Geoff walks over, standing beside me, and places a hand on my shoulder. Firm, but cautious and comforting. "Ray... Buddy, I think you should step back. Go into another room. You don't need this," he murmurs, his loud demeanor gone, instead replaced by his fatherly side.

"No. No, I need to know what he said. Geoff, I-"

"Ray," he insists plainly. When I don't move, he turns to Gavin. "Gav, help him. And MD... Get your kid out of here. She's too young. She shouldn't have to..."

"Yeah. I get it." He takes his daughter's hand, giving me a long, last look before leaving. As they exit, Dahlia glances at me over her shoulder. I swear, it's the first time she's ever looked up from her dumb little game. Her look is calculating, though. Intelligent. It's a look meant for someone five times her age.

"Come on, Ray," Gavin soothes, pulling me off the bed and leading my down the hall. We sit on the couch, where I immediately draw my knees up and wrap my arms around them. I don't know what else to do except sit in silence. Reminisce. Think.

_What was he trying to tell me? Michael? It's her? It's who? Fuck._

"Fuck," I repeat aloud, but it comes out softer than I thought it would. Sounds more remorseful than frustrated.

"He lost a lot of blood, maybe he just passed out," Gavin tries to reason, but I'm shaking my head. Not why I said fuck, but I'll roll with it.

"He was probably stabbed in the lung or something. I'm not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure that would be bad. Don't feed me lies." My voice loses it's venom, and by the end, I just sound tired. "I'm going home," I decide, standing.

He quickly follows, though, grabbing my wrist as I make way for the door. "No. You're not falling into your little hole of despair. Not again. We're going to train. Get better at fighting. Buy some protective gear. No one else will be dying any more. None of us have the heart to lose anyone else. Including you, Ray." I turn, surprised by the force in his words. "Especially you."

I know that look in his eyes. God dammit. It's the look Michael used to give me. I yank my arm away, backing up. "Stop, Gavin. Don't get close to me. You're the one who will hurt from it. Not me."

He looks shocked, but quickly brushes it off. "What about Geoff? Dahlia? Ryan? Huh, Ray? Do you not care about them either?"

I set my jaw. "No. I don't. Glad we're clear on this." I turn on my heel, throwing open the front door with the intention of slamming it behind me. His voice stops me, though.

"How can you say that?!"

I bite my lip, but he can't see. He can't see anything. The pain in my eyes. The regret in the curse of my mouth. The tension in my shoulders, lying hidden beneath my sweatshirt. I shrug, just hoping my voice doesn't quiver as I answer.

"Because it's true."

I calmly close the door behind me as I leave, but I jerk to a stop on the front steps.

Dahlia is sitting there, DS open but off to the side. Instead, she holds a small map of the city in her hands. She seems to be reading it, but I'm not sure if she truly is. I mean, how can someone her age read a map? It's a pretty complex one, too.

I crouch beside her, gently touching her shoulder, clothed by a pale yellow sun dress. She tilts her head in acknowledgement. "Hey, where's your dad? He didn't forget you, did he?"

She shakes her head, and without looking up, points to the house across the street. I furrow my eyebrows, standing and starting to walk over. Halfway across the road, Ryan walks out the front door. His eyes immediately catch mine, and they widen. _What was he-?_

"Ray, watch out!"

I flinch back, just as a huge truck barrels past me, mere inches away. It ruffles my clothes and leaves me a bit dazed. What the fuck. Was the driver even looking?

A siren is getting closer, and I realize he was being chased. Ah. But the cop car slows down when it gets to me, the others behind him swerving around us, like we're rocks in the river. He rolls down the window, taking in my bewildered look.

"You okay, son? That asshole didn't hurt you, did he?" The police man asks, and I shake my head, eyes still wide as saucers. I see Ryan over the top of the roof, slowly going back into the house. "Good, good. We think it's a new gang starting. Seems like the baddest criminals are teaming up. The Mad King, Mogar, Tuxedo Mask- it's ridiculous. Don't worry, though. We've got it covered." He smiles warmly at me, and I just not back. He narrows his eyes at me. "You sure you're okay, kid?" I nod again.

He's staring too hard. Too long. What am I wearing again? Fuck, the purple hoodie. Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_. I take a step back. Then another. The cop starts getting out of his car.

"Fuck," I mutter, then turn and run. _Did I bring a weapon?_ No, of course not, I only came to see Jack. _Do I have a vest on?_ No, I didn't bother. I never do. _Will anyone save me?_ No, because I told them I don't care about them all. And why the fuck would they care about me?

I slow to a walk, and then, I stop completely. I'm halfway up Jack's front walkway. The ground beneath me is familiar. Michael died here. Jack just did, too. Will I? I turn around, facing the cop, who has his gun trained on me. I'm scared, but I can't seem to move any more. I am going to die here.

The police man's eyebrows furrow. And then there's a hole. Right there. Between those two strips of downturned hair. And then he's gone. Dropping to the ground. I expect to see Ryan behind him, gun still smoking, but he's still half in the neighbor's doorway. I look behind me.

He's angry. Infuriated. It's almost as if I can feel the rumble of every footstep he takes towards me. He saved me, though. He-

"You're damn lucky MD was there to save your ass," he spats, shoving me.

What? No he didn't. He- He couldn't have. I spin in a circle, looking up and down the houses of the streets, to their roofs and windows and doorways. No one. Whoever helped me just... Disappeared. Slipped away.

I look down at the body of the cop. "I..." I swallow. For some reason, my throat won't allow me to say that it wasn't Ryan. "What do we do? We can't just have this body here. He'll- They'll find us. They'll realize who we are, and that we shot him. What do we-"

"Shut up. You're panicking. We kill people for a living, I think we know how to take care of a body," Gavin says, a coldness still lingering in his voice.

He grabs my arm, dragging me back inside, and I hear Ryan jogging over to us. What was he even doing in that house?

We walk up the steps to Jack's house, and I look down. Dahlia, sitting there with her DS in her hands again, is looking past us at her father. There's something dark in those eyes.

Something that reminds me of the Mad King.

_It's her._

The words haunt me as I continue on inside, feet numb to the hardwood beneath them, floating in some chamber of my mind meant for panic and confusion and fear and the question, god the question.

_What did Jack mean?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone very close to me passed away when I wrote this chapter, and I felt a lot like Ray did. Wanting to shut myself in, shy away from everything, everyone, even if I needed it most. I'm okay now, but it hit me hard, and just wanted to make something clear:  
> Suicide isn't to be romanticized. That wasn't the point of this fic. Why do people write? To cause emotion in others. I can't explain why exactly I chose suicidal tendencies and major character deaths to do that, but I have a feeling it's because it's what I know most intimately. I tried to save my best friend. I couldn't. I was too blind. Too ignorant to see just how bad it really was. I was hoping her sadness would just go away but... It didn't. It doesn't just do that. I hate depression. I hate suicide. You should, too. It's not some little thing we can just romanticize. It's serious. It's terrible. It took my best friend from me. It might even take another, but she actually has proper care and therapy treatments, so hopefully not.  
> Not sure why I only thought to write this now, but at least it's out there.  
> Nothing is worth hurting yourself over. Nothing is worth killing yourself over. The world keeps turning, keeps changing, and your shitty situation will pass. It always does. Just stick around to see what comes next.


	11. We Burn Faster Than A Cigarette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: We Won't by Jaymes Young

I've always hated talking in the morning, just after I've waken up and started eating breakfast. But the piece of shit woman that had brought me in, long long ago, would always run her mouth from the minute her eyes were open. Wouldn't stop. She'd talk at me, ask me questions that I didn't feel like answering, and when I remained silent- not wanting to ruin my own internal peace- she would hit me.

I've always hated talking in the morning.

"Is he going to stay like this?" Geoff asks Gavin in a not-as-quiet-as-he-thinks whisper.

"I don't know. Should we... Push him? Make him talk?" The Brit replies, and- hey, no.

I pretend I don't hear them, though, looking around Geoff's- and Gavin's, I suppose- house. Jack's burial was quick. They took me here for the duration of it. They never gave me the option of going home. So I stayed. The place is nicer than my own, anyways. Bigger.

Louder.

"Can you guys shut the fuck up? I'm trying to eat," I say, spooning in another bite of Lucky Charms.

"Yeah, well, you're eating my wife's cereal so... Unless you want to be the one to deal with her, I suggest you deal with me talking," Geoff counters. "Not to mention, this is my house."

I shrug. "I didn't ask to be here."

He stays silent for a moment. Then- "What do you want from us, Ray? We're trying to help you. We care about you."

"So stop caring, then." I look up at him, and slowly stand up from my chair. "That's all I want." I go to the front door, grabbing my phone and sweatshirt on the way, both of which were on the kitchen table. He follows me, but doesn't try to stop me.

"We can't just do that, you know. And we don't want to."

"You should want to. I'm just a burden. Admit it, I am," I insist, carefully putting on my shoes. I'm still in my pajamas- borrowed sweatpants and yesterday's t-shirt- but I don't care all too much.

"Where are you even going?" He asks instead, and I shrug in response. "What do you mean? You can't just wander the city. Where-"

"I'm an adult, Geoff. You're not my dad. I can go wherever I want, and do anything I want, and I don't have to tell you." He takes a step back, hurt in his eyes. I don't relent, though, opening his door. "Stay out of my problems. And tell Gavin to fuck off, too."

I feel bad about it, even as I say it, but they don't get it. I don't know how- have I not made myself clear enough? I don't want them close to me. They treat me like a child. Like I can't do anything on my own.

I roll my eyes, walking down the street, because fuck. I don't have a car. I don't know how to drive. I don't care, though. At least I'm getting away from their pitying stares.

~~~

"Wow."

I don't turn as I hear the voice. I don't even acknowledge it. It keeps on, though.

" _Wow_. Not only do you so efficiently destroy yourself, but also everyone around you."

Swallowing the dryness out of my throat, I say, "Yeah, well... Seems to be my specialty."

Ryan leans on the railing of the bridge next to me. He's dressed casually, in a black coat that looks like it would be cozy and plain blue jeans. His blonde hair ruffles in the slight breeze. I look away.

"Well, I think we both know why _I_ came here," I huff, watching the fast-moving water below. "The real question is, why are _you_ here, Ryan?"

"You know, this used to be my thinking spot. That's how I saw you and Michael. That's how I was there to save you."

"So, you came here to think. About what?"

From the corner of my eye, I see his shoulders lift in a shrug. "Mostly to clear my conscience. It builds up when you're, you know..."

"The Mad King?"

"Yeah," he mutters, letting out a heavy sigh. "When you're the Mad King."

It's quiet for a moment, only the rumble of cars passing behind us. We have this weird, peaceful, we're-not-going-to-talk-about-what-happened thing going on, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to ruin it. I guess there's no chance of making things better if there's no possibility it could get worse, though.

"I'm a piece of shit," I admit lamely, gripping the railing tighter. "I say all this- this bullshit, as if I don't care. As if I'm the poor, helpless victim in everything. And I hate it, trust me, I do- but it's how I defend myself. You were right. You're always fucking right. I just withdraw myself, and I don't care who I hurt when I do it, as long as I get it done. The worst thing is, I can't even say sorry about it. I don't feel bad for wanting to get away. It'll hurt you all less if you think I'm just mindlessly an asshole. But you," I turn my head to find him already gazing at me, a blank expression carefully covering his thoughts. "You see right through me."

He breaks eye contact, instead looking up towards the high noon sun, though it's mostly obscured by the clouds, making for a very grey day. "I can't help it. I just know. Sometimes... Sometimes I think it would be better if I didn't."

I laugh quietly, "Yeah, you and me both. It's like you said. You know me, but I don't know you." I study him, as if it will help me learn him better. All I see are the few emotions he can't hide, no matter how hard he tries. There's guilt written in the ridges of his muscles, and sorrow in the blue pools of his eyes. I couldn't have broken this man any further. He's already broken himself. "What really makes your conscience so heavy? It can't be the random people you've killed."

He shakes his head. "Never said it was the random people I've killed."

It's a sentence that could be taken in a number of ways, but with my mind, I fire out the immediate question: "Then who specifically? You may hide yourself well from me, but you can't fool me."

He has an iron grip on the railing, his knuckles turning white except for the bright red lines of small cuts, made from who knows what. I'm guessing now isn't a good time to ask.

"You don't know me, Ray. Don't just assume-"

"Hey, first of all- I'm not assuming anything. I _know_. Second of all, don't you fucking do this again. Don't get pissed. Don't make me have to walk away again. You know where I'll go if I do? Right over this railing." Tauntingly, I rest one foot on the lower bar. It feels too familiar there, and I want to put it down, but I can't show that kind of hesitation. If I do, Ryan will know I'm bluffing.

Am I bluffing?

I look down into the dark water. Nostalgia is hitting me like the ripples and waves in the current below. I don't back down, though. I harden my expression. I won't let him see through me this time.

"Ray, you can't barter your life like this-"

"Yeah, I can. It's what I'm doing right now. You can't stop me."

He sighs, muttering an angry, "Fuck this," and suddenly-

I let out a soft _oof_ as my abdomen is squeezed by two strong arms, dragging me away from the railing. I kick my legs, cursing at him. "What the fuck, Ryan?! Let me go!"

"You're acting like a kid."

"You're acting like a kidnapper! You better put me down or else I'll start screaming 'stranger danger' or 'rape' or something."

"Yeah?" He wonders innocently as a hand clamps over my mouth.

What an asshole.

~~~

"So you got me here. Now what?"

"I saved your life. Again. Can you ever just be grateful?"

I cross my arms, pressing further into the couch. "No." He rolls his eyes, heading for the kitchen. My eyes follow him, only stopping when my view is obscured by a wall. "Hey, where's Dahlia?"

"Geoff's house. His wife might be pregnant, so I thought I'd let him babysit. Just to test the waters a bit," Ryan replies, coming back to the living room with two cans of Diet Coke. He hands one to me, then sits beside me. Like, _right_ next to me. "Besides, I think it's about time we talked."

"Yeah, because our last talk went so well," I scoff, setting aside the can of soda. Didn't want it anyways.

"That was less talking, more... Angry nonsense." He sets his own drink down, wiping his hands nervously on his jeans before looking at me. The Mad King gets nervous? To talk to me? It's almost laughable, thinking this guy's the same madman that can mindlessly put a bullet in someone's head.

"Alright," I fold my arms over my chest. "You want to start?"

He's biting his bottom lip- a bad habit, really, but extremely distracting to me. He notices. "You know, it doesn't help when you're looking at my mouth like that."

I flick my eyes up to his, shrugging before going back to studying them. He licks them nervously. I'm being bold, I know that, but I've thrown everything else out the window- why not my shame, too? "Well, I know firsthand what that mouth of yours can do, now don't I?"

"Listen, as much as I'd love to just- kiss you and get over it, we need to talk about this," he urges, but I'm already- casually- leaning my body closer.

"Do we?" I look up through my eyelashes, seeing the way his pupils are blown and his jaw is tight with the effort to be calm and clear-headed. I want to see him let go, though. I want to know that I was the one who could make him fall apart. Let down his defenses. I've already gotten farther than most have dared. I'm still pushing. I suppose it's up to him, now, whether or not to let me in.

Unless I break him. Make him. Find my way in. Refuse to leave.

"Ray," he protests, but I'm already in his space, and he's already in mine, hand on my side- pulling instead of pushing away. I swing a leg over both of his, and then I'm seated in his lap, our noses brushing. His fingers find their way just under the edge of my shirt, and even the simple touch of them has my heart racing in my chest. "Ray," he repeats, but this time, it's breathy and yearning. "We really should..."

"Ryan?"

His eyes- which had fluttered shut at some point- reopen. All I can see is the depth of the baby blue color, and I can map out the darker and lighter shades and lines that create his irises.

"I want to be close to you," I murmur, resting my forehead against his. "I want to touch you." My hands slide into his hair. "I want to wake up next to you." I press my lips to his- lingering, but not too long. Simple. "Enough said?"

I feel his chest expand with air, then deflate as he drags out a soft, defeated sigh. "I never win with you."

The corner of my mouth turns up in a smirk. Instead of replying, though, I close my eyes and slowly kiss him.

What did we even want to talk about again? I forget.

~~~

_Click._

Fuck.

You know, sometimes I wonder at how misfortunate I am, considering this is the first time this has happened.

And it's the only time I've ever actually been up close and personal with the action.

"Geoff, I'm out," I say over the headset.

"Gav, hook him up," he orders lamely, just pissed that he got stuck with driving duty.

"Where are you, Ray?" The Brit asks.

"Taking cover behind the counter," I reply, taking a peak around the corner. The room is dispersing of the smoke bomb, and I'm able to make out fast-moving shapes. Thankfully, we got most of the guards, so they're just harmless citizens. That's the only reason I hate taking on banks- the guards.

I duck my head back as a shape starts moving towards me, my back pressing against the shelves beneath the counter. I prepare to use butt of my gun if I have to- but when the figure crouches next to me, it's only Gavin. I relax, but just barely. He hands me a box of shells that I quickly load.

"Thanks," I mutter, about to stand when I feel his hand on my shoulder. His green eyes are dark and serious as the bore into mine. He seems to flounder for a moment, but what comes out is a short, simple plea.

"Don't die."

I breathe in deep through my nose, nodding. "Yeah. You too."

He grins, then stands and rushes back into the smoke. I'm close behind him, but when he breaks left, I go to the right, where I know the exit is. My job is to get in, help take out the guards, and get out to help Geoff hold off the cops- and the chopper that is undoubtedly on its way. Rayn is by the door, though, gun trained outside. When I jog over, eyebrows drawn, he puts his gun down.

"What are you-?"

"Hurry on out there, chopper's nearby," he tells me, and I watch his back as he runs away, further into the bank. I'm left confused and slightly dazed, but I still follow my order, pushing the heavy glass door open.

Geoff is sitting on the driver side windowsill, legs still in the car, holding onto the roof and using one hand to fire at cops and security. I smirk as I join him, thinking he looks pretty dumb in that suit and those reflective glasses. It fades, though, when I'm reminded of our lack of crew as I see our simple four seater jeep. I touch the edge of my white mask, remembering when Michael gave it to me.

"Ray! Backup would be nice," Geoff shouts, and- _oh, right. Shit. Chopper. Yup._

I reach into the window of the car, feeling around until my hand closes around the barrel of my sniper. It's not the most efficient for the situation, but it's what I'm best with and it's the only gun I own with a scope. Looking through it, I aim towards the sky, skimming over the clouds until I find my target.

It takes a few misses, but I finally take down one of the gunman from the chopper, and then the pilot. Tossing the gun back into the car, I take out a machine gun and start aiming for the tires of police cars.

"Guys, how's it going in there?" I have to raise my voice as I speak into the headset, but it seems to get across.

"Bit of an issue, but we'll be out in a sec," Gavin answers out of breath, and I hear a slight struggle before it goes fairly quiet (other than civilians freaking out). Seconds later, Ryan and Gavin are running from the bank with suspicious black bags over their shoulders. Wow. Low key.

"Get in, kids!" Geoff yells, sliding back in the window.

"Shotgun!" I call, sliding in.

"Shotgu- dammit," Gavin groans, but gets in back with Ryan.

"You still call shotgun? Even escaping from cops? _Really_?" He asks, peeling back his mask and wiping a hand across his forehead. He frowns at the paint that comes off.

"It's important."

I catch him rolling his eyes in the rearview mirror, then start digging through his bag. "How much we bag?" Geoff asks, glancing back at him, then mutters, "Ray- can you handle the chase?"

I lean out the window, almost immediately jerking back when a bullet pings against the side of the car.

"We got- Ray, _be careful_ \- a lot. Christ, we must have near a million."

"Use the machine gun," Geoff says, handing his over to me. "Is that all together?"

"Each." The car swerves from Geoff's shock, and I nearly fall out the damn window. "Ray, for God's sake-"

"I'm fine," I sigh, leaning out the window- making sure to hold on tight- and shooting behind us. "It's not like I want any more bullet wounds, trust me." A pointed look towards Ryan, who purses his lips.

"No need to worry after today. We're going on vacation, boys!" Geoff announces with a whoop, speeding off towards his house.

"Thank fuck."

~~~

Gavin's been trying to corner me. Isolate me. Do whatever he can to get me alone.

Meanwhile, I've been trying to avoid him.

I knew this little game of cat and mouse wouldn't last forever, so when he finally catches me coming out of the bathroom, I'm not really surprised when I find him outside the door, ready to push me in and close the it again. I let it happen, graciously backing up to make more room for him. It's not like Geoff has a very big bathroom.

The British man leans against the door, looking annoyed. "Haven't been able to catch you all night."

"Well, I'm not really much of a partier, so I thought I'd stay away and let you have some fun." I smile innocently. He's not buying it.

"Listen, this isn't a joke. It's important," he urges, pushing off the door. I imagine he'd be pacing if he had more space to. "Are you and MD... A thing?"

Oh fuck.

I suddenly feel extremely uncomfortable.

"Ah, Gav, about that-"

He rolls his eyes, making me pause. "I don't like you, you smegpot."

"...Smegpot?"

"Just answer the question."

"Yes? No?" I struggle to come up with an answer. "I don't even know! We never... Really... Talked about it..." Huh. Guess we really should have. Why didn't we again?

Oh. Fuck.

I'm dumb.

I repeat that sentiment out loud, but Gavin ignores it. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter how official you are or not. But, Ray- be careful."

I furrow my eyebrows. "What do you mean? I'm an adult, I'm pretty sure I know how to take care of myself- especially in a relationship. Besides, it's just him. He's part of our crew. We can trust him."

"Ray-"

And suddenly, he's shoved forward by the door opening, and we crash into the back wall of the bathroom. "Ow, fuck, what the hell?!" I shove him off, peering around him to see-

Oh _fuck._

He doesn't look shocked. Doesn't look sad. Doesn't look angry. Just looks... Vexed.

"Oh. Sorry to interrupt."

Then the door is slammed shut.

I turn to Gavin, who's wide-eyed and frankly terrified. "Wha- I- He-" He swallows. "What just happened?"

I narrow my eyes into a glare, then shove him out of my way, storming out the bathroom door after Ryan. I see him retreating down the hall.

Towards the door.

"Hey!" I call, walking faster to catch up. Geoff gives me a questioning look as I pass, but doesn't say or do anything. I don't look back as I go out the front door and jog to where Ryan's getting on his motorcycle. "Ryan, stop." He gives me one look, then starts up the engine. " _Ryan_ ," I hiss, running in front of his bike, putting my hands over his on the handlebars. "You don't know what you saw."

"How could I not see?" He asks, voice low and dangerous. It kind of sends a chilling thrill up my spine.

"The door pushed him."

He laughs, deep and quiet. It's not humorous. "What a cliché excuse. _He was pushed onto me_. Yeah," he scoffs. "Now move."

I hear the door of Geoff's house open again, but I ignore it. "No."

"Ray, I swear to God-"

"You'll what? Kill me? I'm pretty sure that every time I was dying, you were the one who saved me. Is that not true?"

His eyes, which were previously focused past me, finally meet mine. They're... Scared. "Ray, please. Move. For God's sake, move."

"Ray, he's dangerous, get away!" Gavin warns, but I'm not listening to him.

"You can't keep doing this!" I growl, hands curling tighter around his, and I find satisfaction in the way he winces.

"Ray, stop," Gavin pleads, and I now hear his footsteps coming closer.

"He's right, Ray. Get. Away."

"There's nothing happening with us! You wanted us to talk? Let's talk," I insist, and I know I sound desperate by now, but I can't seem to stop. Can't seem to let go of his hands. Can't seem to look anywhere but those terrified blue eyes.

"Ray!" Gavin's footsteps are louder, faster now.

I lean closer to Ryan, knowing I don't have much time left. "Don't throw me away again, Ryan."

He grits his teeth, and I feel his hands becoming tense beneath mine. _But... He wouldn't..._

_Right?_

Just as I feel him pulling his right hand back, Gavin's body slams into mine, knocking us both into the road. We roll a bit, and I feel my elbows and knees scrape as I finally land on them. When I look up again, Ryan's gone, the sound of his motorcycle growing fainter and fainter.

_He would have._

I hear Gavin coughing from the fumes of the bike, and when my eyes land on him, I see him kneeling on the pavement, wiping one of his bloody hands on his jeans while the other covers his mouth.

"He killed them," he chokes out, voice dry. "It was him, Ray. He sniped Michael. He stabbed Jack."

"Bullshit," I spit, dragging myself off the ground, just to shove him over.

He lands hard on his elbow, but doesn't complain. Just looks up at me, a small scrape painting a red line across his jaw. "Ray, he did, I swear. I had suspected- I didn't want to- but now I know. Ray, please."

"You _don't_ know. You can't _possibly_ know. He wouldn't do that!" I protest, _because he wouldn't, right?_

"He tried to strangle me today!" Gavin screams, voice rough and hoarse. He drags down the collar of his shirt, showing a ring of purple bruising, and- and-

_He would._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh... Shit's going down, I guess. Daily updates, though, so that's cool (I had this all pre-written so it was just a matter of getting online to upload each chapter)


	12. When it Rains it Pours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: The Kids Aren't Alright by Fall Out Boy  
> *in Ray's voice* shout out to my emo dads

Gavin's elbow is shattered.

Not like that's our biggest issue at the moment, but sitting in some sketchy 'Criminal Hospital', as the owner calls it, with him helps take my mind off of things. The people in the "waiting room"- also known as, the living room- are very interesting. Some people walk in alone with a bullet in their chest, and just calmly sit and wait for their turn as if they're absolutely fine. No one here really comes in crying or screaming, but on occasion- when they do- the bigger, tougher guys just give them dirty looks. That definitely makes them sit down and shut up.

And then there's Gavin. He's in a makeshift sling we found in one of Jack's med cases, and the ring of bruising around his throat is bright against his almost sickly pallor. He's just drained from spending a night with a broken bone and minimal painkillers.

I've probably said sorry about twenty times already, but every time I catch him wince or rubbing his neck, I feel the apology rising in my mouth. Last time I said it, though, he hit me upside the head with his good hand and told me to shut up, it's fine. But-

"Gavin-"

"I swear to god, if you're about to say sorry again, I'm leaving."

I look down at my lap, where my- once again, new- phone is resting on my knee. There's a text from Geoff.

_Hey buddy, how you two doing?_

I type back, _Fine for now, thanks. Any word on Ry-_ I pause, staring at the half of the name. The name that only I know. I delete the two letters. _Any word on MD?_

_Nothing_

Tapping idly against the side of my phone, I think. _I highly doubt it, but anything from Dahlia?_

_Nope. Do you think I should, idk, take the DS away from her or something?_

He had a point, but... _No, don't punish her for what her father did_. I leave it at this, tucking the phone back into my pocket. Gavin, who was looking at the texts over my shoulder, has an intrigued look. I raise an eyebrow at his expression.

"You almost typed his name, didn't you?" He asks, eyes curious.

I purse my lips briefly, then sigh, "Yeah. Ryan."

He nods, saying, "I thought I heard you call him that last night, but I wasn't entirely sure. Kind of had more pending issues. Why'd he hide his name anyways?"

"He wasn't hiding it. He'd have told you if you'd asked. You just assumed you weren't supposed to ask," I shrug, playing with a loose thread in the knee of my jeans. There's this small, aching feeling in my chest- or, maybe my right shoulder- as I talk about him. It's not a bad ache- though, it's not an entirely good one, either. "He willingly told me. Not only that, but when I told him to take off his mask and face paint, he did it without hesitation."

Gavin rolls his eyes, shaking his head with a slight smile. "That's just because it was _you_. You're the only one he really cared about. Still really cares about."

I yank hard at the thread, breaking it completely. My voice is quiet when I speak, though. "How can you say that after what happened? What he's done? He'd been killing everyone he knew I loved."

"Look, I don't know what that was about. I have no idea what his intentions were, but it was never to hurt you. When you holed up in depression after Mich-" He takes a moment, holds his breath. If this is still so hard on me, I can't even imagine how Gavin still feels. "After Michael's death and Jack's injury, he nearly tore apart the city in rage- at himself. I just didn't realize that until I knew it was him who, you know..." He sighs, making a hand gesture as if brushing it aside. "Point is- he cares. A lot. If he didn't, he wouldn't have been warning you to stay away from him last night. I don't particularly like him for what he did to us, but I know he still means something important to you, and you're sure as hell important to him."

I'm left speechless for a moment, just soaking everything in. I open my mouth to protest- or, maybe not protest- but the "doctor" (some guy who went to med school until he couldn't afford it) comes out and calls his name. For such a shady place, he's very professional and organized.

Kind of.

I follow behind Gavin as we're lead further into the house, though, prepared for moral support.

~~~

The cast covers his entire arm, only leaving his shoulder and fingers free.

"Well... At least we're on vacation...?" I offer sheepishly, but he's obviously not in the greatest mood.

And it's started raining.

And since I can't drive, and his arm is, well, out of use, we walked here.

So now we're walking back.

In the rain.

I'd say it sucks more for him, but at least he has a jacket on. He's using mine to make sure his cast doesn't get wet.

When we finally do turn up at Geoff's door, he just gives us- well, me, actually- a disappointed look. He lets us in, and while Gavin's permitted to go further than the doorstep, I have to stay so that I don't track in water.

He hands me a towel, muttering, "Jesus, you're drenched."

I nod, probably shaking like a pathetic chihuahua. It's his fault, though. He insisted that since I technically caused Gavin's injury, I should be the one to take him to the doctor.

Clearly, that went great.

"You gonna be disabled with pneumonia now?" Geoff asks, and I glare at him, droplets of water dripping from my eyelashes.

"Don't bitch at me, you're the one who refused to drive us."

"Gavin's kind of like my son. Someone hurts him, I make sure there are consequences for whoever did it."

I frown. "Can you ask him if he can give my jacket back? I'm going home."

The older man looks me up and down, taking in my absolutely soaked body. I bet my lips are turning blue. Finally, he sighs. "No you're not. Go on upstairs. Take a hot shower."

I contemplate fighting it, but by the look on his face, I'm guessing it wouldn't be a wise choice. With a small nod of defeat, I head upstairs to the bathroom and close the door, locking it by habit. There's a skylight letting in a natural, orange morning glow that bathes the white walls in a diluted color. It's a comforting color. Warm.

As I strip off my clothes, turn on the shower, and step under the hot rain of water, the color of the room reminds me of something.

When I was younger- living on the street- there was an old, homeless man that everyone knew for his distinct love of the color yellow and his old yellow Labrador retriever. I never knew his real name, but I called him Ozzie. He was well-known, yes, but an outcast. At the soup kitchens we'd go to, everyone would avoid him.

Except me, of course. I was an outcast, too. A little kid with murder tainting his young innocence, and a history of being a delivery system for drug trades.

So, I used to sit with him. Whenever he talked to me, he'd never tell me about himself specifically, but of his "daughter." Yeah, he thought Brittany Spears was his daughter. She was not.

Anyways, I would ask around the people I delivered to- or delivered for- and eventually I found out he was a war veteran. Got really messed up. Has a list of mental problems.

I didn't link the war and the color before now.

I once asked why he liked yellow so much, and he just said, "Because yellow is always happy."

He lived in this little yellow shack. The year that his yellow Lab- Henry, I think his name was- died, he painted a red streak across the top of his yellow shack. I always hated the way it looked.

Yellow was his symbol of happiness. He wanted to surround himself with it. Use it to possibly make himself happier- and he was a very happy, lovable man. The red streak interfered with that happiness.

And at this point, I realize I've been standing under the stream of water idly, and the warm glow of the room has turned dark. When I look above the shower curtain, at the skylight, I see that clouds have covered the orange brightness of the sun.

Yeah. Reminds me a lot of old Ozzie.

I shake my head, quickly finishing up my shower after that little... Episode.

Before stepping out, I reach past the curtain to grab my towel and rub it over my dark, dripping hair before wrapping it around my waist. When I step put, I check the floor for my haphazardly shucked off clothes, but they're gone. My mind immediately goes to Gavin.

With a sigh, I go to throw open the bathroom door, prepared to yell for the little British bastard, when I remember.

I locked it.

And he didn't pick it, because...

_It's still locked._

Now, you see, Geoff's bathroom is shaped kind of like an L. The long part is where the sink lays on one wall and the shower and tub is on the other. Around the corner is the toilet.

I turn towards that corner, afraid to get close, let alone go around it.

"H-Hello?" I ask timidly, gripping the towel around my waist tighter.

I know who it's going to be. Who else would it be? Who else could it be? My heart is in my throat.

"Ry-"

He steps around the corner before I can finish. And. It's not Ryan. It's not Gavin. It's not Geoff. Fuck, it's not even Dahlia.

The name is my brain, but it can't seem to process it. It doesn't link up. It doesn't make sense. I watched it happen all of it.

I watched him get shot. I watched him take his last breath. I watched the coffin close over his body. I watched his grave fill up with dirt. Yet...

" _Michael..._?"

Is this it for me? Am I dying? Did I slip in the shower? Oh fuck. I'm dying. I'm seeing this apparition of Michael because _I'm dying, oh god._

But- I'm breathing. Erratically, at that. And I feel my heartbeat- racing a thousand miles per hour. I feel the shattering of my heart. The wobble in my legs. My entire body is shaking. Doesn't that all mean I'm alive?

But what about this... This thing in front of me? Is he breathing? Does he have a heartbeat? Does he feel warm to the touch? Can I even touch him at all?

He's holding my clothes, a grin on his face. "Boo, motherfucker."

That's it for me.

I stumble forwards, and he drops my clothes to meet me halfway.

I feel his chest rise beneath mine. When I press my ear to his chest, I hear a steady rhythm. And he's warm- God, he's so warm, and I can feel his heat and his skin and the contractions of his muscles beneath me, all letting me know just how alive he is.

I'm well aware that I'm shaking and gasping for air that I can't seem to find and feeling a painful pressure behind my eyes, telling me I want to cry but I don't know if I can. Instead of letting out the sob that threatens to escape, I choke out a simple, " _How_?"

"I don't know," he murmurs honestly, his arms tight around me. "One moment I was dying, the next I was- well, I don't know, in some sort of chair. My vision was completely black except for a screen in front of my eyes that just kept loading. I must have had to sit there watching it for hours. Then I was back here. Well, more up north. Like, a lot up north." I feel him shake his head. "Whatever happened- it was meant to keep me away from you."

"It was Ryan- ah, well, the Mad King," I tell him, voice shaking pathetically. "I-I don't know why, but he was trying to take you all away from me. He-" I stop cold, gripping Michael's arms and leaning back to look at him. "Jack. Does this mean Jack's alive too?"

"I... I don't know, I'm sorry," he says, but I'm shaking my head.

"Well we have to find him. Make sure. Check where we buried him."

"Listen, Ray. Whatever's going on here- it's a lot bigger than us. Whoever or whatever is messing with out lives doesn't want all five of us together."

"We can't just leave him out there!"

He puts a firm hand on my bare shoulder, and it sends another jolting thought of _holy fuck he's real_ to my brain. "I know. But we're not going to rush into this all willy-nilly."

I nod, taking a breath and taking a step back. "How, uh... How do we tell the others? Once they see you, they might do something stupid. Especially..."

Michael's eyes flash- and man, I missed the honey brown eyes of my best friend. I know that _he_ missed the emerald green of someone else's, too. A certain British asshole that I broke the arm of.

But Michael doesn't need to know that.

"I'll wait until tonight. I need to meet Gavin alone. If something happens, well... I'll be up north again after a few hours of- what would that be called, respawning? Weird."

"Tell me about it," I mutter. "So, what, I just pretend I didn't see you? Let you go just after being reunited? What if the universe is all like, 'hey man, I told you not to see your friends again' and then you're gone again?"

The sadness in his expression is overwhelming. Panic is rising fast within me, and if it doesn't diffuse quickly, I might just break down. And that would be a gross sob fest.

"You guys really did miss me?"

I feel like slapping him. You know, if I didn't want to hug him again so bad. "Obviously, asshole, you were my best friend." I shake my head, looking down at my bare feet. "Please don't go. Not again."

"Hey," he soothes, hooking an arm over my shoulder and wrapping my in another embrace. "I'll stay near, and I'll be back. I promise."

"Yeah, well, remember when we first started our criminal tendencies? You promised not to die. That went well."

"But I'm back, so maybe I didn't die."

"I _saw_ you, Michael." I hold onto him harder for a moment longer, then- reluctantly- I let go. "I trust you, though." Letting go of him feels so wrong in my chest. Makes it hurt to the point where breathing is painful and almost impossible. I keep it down, though, knowing that Michael needs to do what he's got to. And so do I.

He offers a slanted smile. "Thanks. You'll see me later tonight. Promise. Now help boost me up to the skylight- I imagine it's harder getting out than it is in."

~~~

"You've been fidgeting all day," Gavin blurts out at some point. "What's the matter with you?"

And of course he had to be the one to ask. The last person I should ever tell. _Years of lying to my step mom about where I was going, please come in handy now_ , I beg internally. "Just-"

"It better not be another apology." Bingo. There it is. My beautiful escape route. I muster up the most sheepish smile I can manage, and he seems to buy it, since he's now rolling his eyes at me. "Honestly, Ray, a lot happened for a lot of different reasons. It's no one's fault. Except maybe MD's." He looks me straight in the eyes, and I feel like a dirty, dirty liar as he says, softer and sadder, "And I know how hard it is to lose someone you were close to like that."

I hate myself.

I swallow, nodding, and he seems to take the pain on my face as pain for our loss, not pain for my internal hatred of my life. It just makes it worse when he pulls me into a quick side hug- a side hug because _I broke one of his arms_.

Yup. I definitely hate myself.

I feel sick to my stomach as we part, him with a smile as he turns to, I don't know, get food in the kitchen or something. All I can do is flop down onto the couch in dismay. I can already tell that this will be a long day.

I stand up, passing the kitchen with a muttered, "I'm taking a nap in your room, Gavin." I just manage to catch the sympathetic look he shoots me. I wish I hadn't.

When I get to his room- painted a deep blue- I freeze. Dahlia is sat on the bed, cross-legged and tapping away at her DS.

"Hey, Dahlia... I know you might hate us right now, but I have a headache. Could you please go downstairs so I can lay down?"

She looks up at me, a small smile on her face. It's less innocent, though. More... Creepy, actually. She stays put.

"Please, Day, I- I'm sorry for what happened with your dad, and how he left you here, but you're safe with us. I promise."

She giggles. An actual sound. It's high-pitched, but very quiet. I almost missed it- almost mistook it for the quiet hum of a bird. I cock my head in confusion, but she just shakes hers. She outstretches an arm, finger pointed behind me.

It's kind of like a scene in a horror movie. A little girl saying there's someone standing behind me. And I feel the presence. I know that there is. If I don't turn around, they'll slit my throat. If I do, they'll stab me.

Unless...

_Oh dear god, please let it be Michael. Please let this be him pranking me._

_If it is, that is so not cool, man._

I go to turn- because fuck it- but then there's an arm around my waist, and a hand over my mouth, and a dull ache in my temple before my vision is swimming with darkness.

Then I'm gone.


	13. Where Were You When Our Hearts Were Bleeding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Let It Burn by Red (but I listen to the nightcore version mostly)

_~Gavin's Point of View~_

Ray's done a lot of cruel things to us. Said a lot of cruel words. But I know him better than he thinks I do.

He likes to pretend he doesn't have a heart- or that's it's frozen over, like the plains of hell. One time, him, Michael, and I were joking about our how our souls 'must be black,' and he just laughed and said, "Soul? What soul?"

Sure, we were joking, but I could tell it wasn't all just banter to him. By the off-put look in his eyes, I had a feeling that he somewhat believed it.

And lately, as he's told us off and claimed he doesn't care, I _know_ he does. Like I said, he acts like a complete mong sometimes, but he's not completely heartless.

I feel like I should go talk to him. He pushes me away, but he always seems so lonely. Maybe he craves attention from someone else, but if I'm the only one that'll go to him, well... I have to, right?

"Geoff?" I start timidly, and the older man looks at me, blue eyes always inquisitive. I can't help but smile the littlest bit. "You think I should talk to Ray now? He's been upstairs for a while."

He checks his watch briefly, then nods. "Yeah, it's just past seven. When you guys are done, come on down for dinner."

I head up the stairs, treading lightly in case he's still sleeping. I'll only bother him if he's awake.

The bedroom door- my bedroom door- is shut. I hesitate. _He's probably still napping, isn't he? I'll just check in_. Fortunately, Geoff's house is fairly new, so the door doesn't creak when I open it.

It could have creaked. Wouldn't have disturbed anyone.

Because no one's here.

I open my mouth, about to call for Geoff, but it dies in my throat as my eye catches movement. Then the bathroom door closes. I furrow my eyebrows, walking up to it and knocking gingerly. "Ray? You in there? Why you sneaking about?"

The door opens, and before I can really process what's going on or who's standing on the other side of it, I'm being dragged in. Faintly, I hear the door close behind us, but I'm too busy being pushed against it and kissed to pay much attention to it.

And the kiss... It's not feverish or rushed, but desperate. Slow and gentle and even a bit cautious. It's familiar. Too familiar to be Ray. Or Geoff (yeah, that happened once, I don't know). Or any one night stand. Or anyone, really, except...

No.

_No._

I turn my head so that the kiss breaks, unable to move back with the door in my way. I squeeze my eyes shut tight.

I can't. I can't handle this.

"This is- This is cruel. This is sick. Whoever you are, you have five seconds to go away, and after that... I can't promise you're safety. I can't promise anything," I mutter, more broken than angry.

"Gavin..." _Christ. No. This is impossible. That voice-_ "Gavvers, come on. Look at me." A hand closes around my wrist- a warm, solid hand- and brings it to his chest. "I'm real." A warm, solid chest, with a steady beat playing a melody that's been stuck in my head since the moment it was taken away. "Gavin."

I look.

He's got a somber look, which was... Well, is rare. And his auburn curls are falling around his pale, freckled face in a halo of rich flames. He's a guardian angel of embers, coming back from the dead to protect me once more.

An apparition.

I'm shaking my head before the thought is even complete. "My mind is playing a real sick joke on me," I whisper, but even as I say it, I still feel the knock of his heart against his chest, and I still see his brown eyes so full of light and- and _life_. But- "It's impossible."

"It should be, I know, but it's not," he urges, bringing his hands up to hold my face. His thumb is running gently over my jawline, the pads of his fingers still rough and calloused. I know those fingers. I know the feel of them. And bugger all if these aren't them. I meet his eyes, and he offers a grin- a signature 'I'm Michael Jones and I'm great' grin. "Hey," he says, as if greeting me after a short time spent apart.

My hands are shaking as they reach up, but they find stability as they slide into his curly hair. "You cheeky lil'-"

"Love you, too, Gav," he breathes, then surges forward to catch my lips with his own again.

Yeah. This is real.

I relax against him as I melt into the kiss, missing his touch, his taste, his everything. Even as he presses further into me, traces my lips with his gently prodding tongue, making everything so vivid and real, I can't help myself. My eyes are watering beneath my closed eyelids, and twin trails of single, happy tears roll down my face as Michael wraps his arms around my middle. Then I'm laughing. Pulling back just enough to rest my forehead on his, and laughing and crying and letting his soft hair slip through my fingers as I fold my hands behind his neck. Through blurry vision, I see him doing the same. The almighty Mogar with tears of utter joy spilling from his eyes and a smile that could brighten the night on a new moon.

I don't even bother asking how or why or when- does it matter? He's here. He's solid. Stable. Alive.

I shake my head, drawing a hand from around him to wipe at my cheeks. "Wait, if you're here, where's Ray?" I ask with a small sniffle, and he suddenly looks concerned.

"What do you mean?" He asks, arms sliding up my body to grip my biceps. My smile falters into a frown.

"He went up here for a nap and never came back down. I came to look for him, but his room was empty," I say, eyes searching his. "Actually, come to think of it, I haven't seen Dahlia either..."

Michael sucks in a sharp breath.

"The Mad King has Ray."

~~~

_~Ray's Point of View~_

My head is pounding. Reminds me of that one time I drank. I didn't do it again, did I? Hadn't I learned my lesson? Hangovers suck.

Why would I wake from a hangover tied to a chair, though?

My eyes snap open, and suddenly I'm very awake. I can feel my heartbeat pulsating through my head in a painful rhythm, quick and terrified. There's a helmet type of thing over my head with a darkened visor, but I can still see through it.

I twist my head, looking around the entire room. Other than a wooden staircase in one corner, the walls are alive with digital images. The wall to my left is completely covered in a map of the city, small red dots indicating different locations. I recognize all our houses. Behind me is a wall lined with weapons, each with their own digital info beneath them. To my right, partially cut off by the stairs, is a screen displaying different files and documents. And in front of me...

Surveillance.

It's only of the outside of the houses and the living rooms, but they're all there. Even Ryan's. He was the one who took me, though... Right? Why would he have surveillance of his own house?

I shake my head. Not important. I look up, seeing the source of all the images; a four-sided projector hanging from the ceiling, displaying what must be coming from computers elsewhere in the house.

I look back down at the surveillance. All the houses are empty except for Geoff's. Said man is sitting on his couch with a plate of pizza, one hand holding a slice and the other casually tucked in his pants. Nice. Classy as ever, Ramsey.

I'm distracted when I hear a door at the top of the stairs open, and my head immediately turns to look.

The clack of heels coming down the steps has me watching the bottom of the stairs, waiting for someone to appear. When she does, I blink rapidly. _Wait... Is that...? Ryan is actually a woman?_

She must see the confusion clear on my face, because she rolls her eyes and walks over, a certain, unsettling confidence in her swagger. "Hello, Ray. I'm Lilith Haywood, but you may know me as Dahlia."

"I... What?" Dahlia? That little girl? I mean, yes, she looks like her, but Day was just a little girl. This is a woman, fully grown and with the full ability to speak.

"I'm Ryan Haywood's sister." She smiles, though it's not in a friendly way. "That DS that my digital self had? That was the game. Your game, Ray. Of all the subjects in my experiment, you were the one to never do as I willed you to. You, my brother, and that crew of idiots you got yourself."

"What the fuck? What is this bullshit your feeding me? That's not- That's impossible. I didn't live my whole life in a game. I couldn't have. I-"

"Then how did your little friend Michael come back from the dead?" She punctuates her words with a hard, cruel tone. She's shattering my world. Everything I've known is crumbling. "Twenty-four hour respawn. Unfortunately, you only get one chance to respawn, though. The second time you die, this helmet here," she taps at my visor, making me jerk away, "kills you. There's this type of gun they use on livestock- quick, quiet, decapitates the brain. It's kind of like that."

"How long have I...?" My voice is dry, and I find that I can't finish the sentence.

"About a month." Her mouth sets in an annoyed slant. "You weren't supposed to wake up yet. The stimulation is still running. There's still tests to be done."

"Wait- so Ryan didn't kill Michael and Jack? Was that you forcing him to?"

"Let's just say that fathers are very loving and protective of their daughters. Dahlia has her cute little ways of deceiving him."

My mouth falls open. "Why would you do that? To your brother, too? And where am I? How did I get here? Why have you not been caught yet?!"

She grins, reaching out and tapping a button on the side of my helmet. "Because there's no one to catch me when I have legal permission. You agreed to this, Ray. Now, be a good little character and get back to your game."

There's a vibrating pulse throughout the helmet, and suddenly, I'm very tired. My drowsy eyes follow Lilith's retreating form. Instead of going up the stairs though, she opens up a door I didn't realize was there. As my vision swims in and out of darkness, I catch what lies beyond that door. A chair, much like mine. A room with states and documents. And a person, tied up and clearly unconscious by the slump of their body. That distinct, tall, broad, muscled body.

_Ryan._

~~~

I never thought I'd be grateful for the soft material of a blindfold over my eyes, and the pressure of duct tape over my mouth. Cuffs bind me to a something that must be attached to a wall- I'm sitting on the floor, not on a chair. There's quiet movement around me. My heart rate slowly calms down.

"You awake yet?

I go rigid again.

It's her voice. Kind of.

I feel fingers at the back of my head, and suddenly, the blindfold is falling away from my eyes. I squint against the sudden brightness of the room, looking up at the figure standing over me. The woman smiles, crouching next me.

"Hello, Ray. So nice to be in my natural form again," she converses casually, rolling her thin shoulders and putting her hands in the pockets of her worn, brown leather jacket that fits snug against her frame. As if realizing I can't reply, she removes on and rips off the tape.

"Ah, son of a bitch," I mutter, head briefly dropping to my chest as I grit my teeth. I look up again, glaring. "Where is he?"

"Where's who, darling?" She muses, dropping the tape before trailing her hand through my hair. I shiver and jerk my head away.

"Where's Ryan?"

"Oh, he's around."

"Does he know about you?"

She shakes her head, quirking her lips to the side. "No. And if you told him, he'd just think you're crazy, right? Not that you'd tell him, huh?" Then she's smiling again, standing up and skipping towards the opposite end of the room. I realize now that it's Ryan's guest bedroom. "You probably have a lot of questions. Feel free to ask away," she insists, busying herself with something on top of a tall dresser. When she returns, she has my pink DS, and she sits on the edge of the bed facing me, keeping her eyes fixed on it as she swirls around her stylus.

"Well, first of all, if this is just some stimulation, why do I have childhood memories? Where in my lifetime here did I actually enter the stimulation?"

"We made a false memory for you and the other subjects, making sure yours and Michael's matched up. Time is different here- goss a lot quicker than in the real word. You've spent about a year here, playing my game like a good little character. Barely a thought to yourself."

"Alright... What's the point of this? To control people within a stimulation?"

"Precisely. The government is full of dirty little secrets and experiments. This is one of the many steps that will lead us to gaining the power of mind control. Whether to use it on American citizens, or in a war scenario- I'm not really sure what they want it for. But I sure know why I want it." She shrugs. "But they don't know that I have ulterior intentions."

"Mind control?!" Fuck. That's messed up. But- "Wait, if I'm... Sentient... Doesn't that mean you've failed?" I taunt- but carefully.

She sends me a glare over the top of the DS, then resumes playing it. "Partially, yes. You started becoming independent of my will a few weeks before your first suicide attempt. This thing," she waves the DS slightly, "is how I kept track of you all. I implanted the memory of it so you'd think I just found it, but I had it the whole time. I had to make this elaborate scheme with Burnie Burns and Ryan- you know, that whole deal- just to get into the stimulation to see what was going on. I found that not only could I no longer track or control you on the DS, but I couldn't track or control any of your 'crew' members."

I smirk a little. "So I fucked up your experiment then? Sick."

Her face lights up, and I frown. That wasn't expected. "No, not at all! Now that I have you- someone who can be independent and make others independent as well- I can run tests on your brain functions and find out what I need to fix about the system. Trial and error, yeah? I got lucky that I found the fatal flaw in just the first test run. Saves me a lot of time. So I should be thanking you."

"No need. Honestly," I answer drily, letting out a sigh with it. "So. Now that I know government secrets... Will I be killed when your little experiment is over?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

I cock my head, watching her, but she's too into her game to look back. "Why unfortunately? I'd have thought you'd be celebrating."

She shakes her head, her eyes- baby blue eyes- turning sorrowful. "No. Not at all. You were never my enemy, Ray. Not only that, but you were good to my brother. You accepted him. And, dare I say... Loved him."

I remain silent for a moment, letting her words sink in. Quietly, I ask, "He can't be alive after this either, can he? Now that he knows, too. And... You didn't want to risk him going in the stimulation. He somehow snuck in here. Right?" She gives a small nod, and every second that I figure this all out, I'm becoming more and more sympathetic. God, I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it. "How?"

"I had a partner in this experiment. Obviously. Ryan went to him. Bribed him into letting him in. And once that helmet was on... There was no waking him up. Not without risking his life. They were meant to keep the stimulation going, unbroken for the subject. If the link to the stimulation was suddenly lost, say by removing the helmet, his brain would be floundering in a void of confusion. It might not be able to come back."

"So even if we never did become independent, we might have died anyways?" She nods. "Wait- why did we only get one respawn?"

"After that, you were considered a failure. The government doesn't care about puny human lives. They don't care about anything."

"You seem angry about it. Why do you still work for them?"

"Like I said. I have my purposes." She leaves it at that, and I want to ask- even though it's probably a bad idea- but just then, Ryan walks in.

To my surprise, Dahlia- Lilith- whatever her name is, falls forwards off the bed. When I look down at her, she's a little girl again, kneeling innocently on the floor with her little DS, wearing one of her sundresses. Ryan rounds the bed, smiling at her when she looks up at him.

"Keeping watch, Day?" He asks, and she nods simplistically. When he looks at me, the smile fades. "Ray, I... I'm sorry for what happened last night."

I contemplate snapping at him. Something like, _you have more to be sorry about than that_. But in all honesty, he doesn't. That wasn't him. He might not even realize...

I shake my head. "No. No, you warned me. Thanks for that. Even if I was dumb and didn't listen."

He seems tremendously relieved by my answer. "Could I have a word with Ray, Dahlia?" Once again, the-little-girl-who's-not-really-a-little-girl nods, sending me a look before leaving. A look that makes me think there's probably both cameras and recording devices in the room.

Once she's gone, door closed soundly behind her, I look to Ryan with an eyebrow raised. "The only thing that confuses me here is why you've kidnapped me when you so desperately wanted me to get away yesterday."

He shakes his head, sliding down the wall to sit next to me and resting his elbows on his propped up knees, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "I honestly can't tell you what's happening to me- I have no idea." _Yeah, well, I do. If I tell you, we'll both be killed immediately, though_. "I could apologize a million and one times, but I have a feeling that it was be a million and one wasted words, yeah?"

"Yeah. You already said it once. That's enough," I assure him quietly, feeling the mood like a wet blanket over our shoulders. "Fuck," I mutter to myself, letting out a half-hearted chuckle. "When did my life gets so absolutely fucked up?" I wonder if I'd led a simple life before this stimulation. I snort out another soft laugh as I think, what if they put me in the stimulation because I'm a caught criminal, and my life doesn't matter?

"It's all my fault, isn't it?" Ryan asks, and I feel a small shudder where his shoulder is pressed to mine.

"Not at all." _You're sister, however..._ "I guess it's my fault." I have no right blaming anyone else when I might be the reason I'm here right now. Maybe I signed up for this. "Doesn't matter. This is the hand I've been dealt."

When I look to the side, I'm a bit curious when I find him with a small smile gracing his lips. "You know, just a few weeks ago, you wouldn't have said that. Not that you'd complain. You'd probably just... Do something stupid."

"Like jump off a bridge or something?" I grin, pretending to roll my eyes at the idea. "I know right, how dumb is that?" I sigh, but it's more content than anything. My smile becomes more pensive as I study the side of his face, illuminated by the dull glow of the lamp. It catches on his blonde eyelashes, making them even more golden, and shines in his distinctive blue eyes. His mind is elsewhere, and it's like I'm watching a movie through his irises, only coming to an end when he blinks a few times and looks over at me. "Nah," I murmur, allowing myself to forget everything this man has done, even just for a second. "You didn't make my life worse." I see the question in his eyes, but I answer it before he can even ask. "You made it better."

The corner of his lips turn up. "I never took you for a man of many words. Especially such cheesy ones."

I shrug. "I like to shake things up every now and then."

Then there's that moment. That moment when you know it's the last word. The perfect last line. And he's leaning in, our heads tilting, so close, unbearably close-

He's a breath away when he speaks, eyes shut against my gaze. "Is this- Is this okay?"

Instead of answering, I close the distance between us, eyes fluttering shut when our lips meet in a soft but lingering kiss.

I don't know how much longer we'll be in the stimulation, or how long we'll survive after we get out. If we get out. So, yeah.

Yeah, this is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why the Mavin? Because Mavin. Why not?  
> Also- forgot to mention in the last update- I got a suggestion from someone on Wattpad for what happened in the last chapter.  
> JewelGoldSmith (on Wattpad, not sure if they have an Ao3) had the idea to have the dead characters (Michael and, after him, Jack) to respawn. Ya know. Like a video game. Like GTA. I added the whole 'oh shit we're actually in a video game and that creepy little girl was controlling us.'  
> By the way- like it said in this chapter, she was no longer able to monitor/watch/control them, so she didn't have to awkwardly watch every mushy or sexy moment. She might have witnessed the last one, but that was innocent enough.  
> Things will be further explained in the next chapter, but feel free to ask me if you have a question or are confused about what I've done here.  
> That's all :)


	14. Lover Where it Wasn't Supposed to Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: I Found by Amber Run

"Am I a prisoner here?" I ask as we're eating dinner- Chinese takeout- on the couch, some old movie playing on the TV. It's kind of late to be eating, considering it's almost eleven, but I was starving. He took me before suppertime.

Ryan hesitates to answer, tapping his spoon against the side of his cup of pork fried rice thoughtfully. "I mean... Not exactly."

I raise my eyebrow. "So... I could leave?" Not that that's my intention, per say, but I'm curious. I'm not offended when he sighs and shakes his head. "Alright, what about a phone call? I know that the others don't know where your apartment is, so they'll be tearing up the city looking for me. I was kind of on house lock."

"Yeah, that's fine," he permits, though not completely happy about it. He hands over my phone- which I didn't actually realize he took, but I suppose it makes sense.

I click speed dial number two (one is for the sub shop near my house... Shut up), and Michael's number pops up. It's going out on a limb, considering, well, he died and I don't know if he still has his phone. But then he picks up halfway through the first ring.

"Ray? Is that you? Fuck, please tell me it's-"

"Yeah, it's me. Chill, man, I'm fine-"

"You were fucking kidnapped!"

I wince at how loud his voice is, glancing over to see Ryan's stony-faced expression as he stares blankly at the TV. "No I wasn't." This makes the man next to me furrow his eyebrows, and he gives me a curious look. "I'm not with Ryan. I left on my own. Please don't track me down. I'm fine, I swear, just needed some space from you guys- no offense."

Michael lets out a half relieved, half pissed sigh. "You're a little shit, you know that? When Gavin said you were gone, I _flipped_. I didn't know if you were dead, being tortured, being shipped off to a foreign country. But nope. You just needed space. Fucking christ," he mutters. I hear Gavin say something, I don't know exactly what, but it doesn't annoyed. Whatever it was, Michael replied to it with, "Yeah, I know, right? Scared me half to death." Then, louder, to me, "Gavin says you're a _pissy little piss pot_. Whatever that means," he says, imitating his voice.

"That's nice. Anyways, I'll be back- Ah, well, I don't know for sure yet. But I _will_ be back. Soon. Okay? I promise."

Gavin's voice comes on, saying a quick, "Don't die," before Michael takes over again. It leaves me shocked for a moment. My insides feel icy. _Don't die_. I feel like it's his way of saying, _I forgive you_. "I just got you back," Michael says, pulling me from my reverie. "Don't let me lose you again. Come back _soon_." He hangs up without a goodbye. I slowly lower the phone.

"What the heck just...?" Ryan inquires, but I just shake my head.

"Not really sure."

~~~

It's weird, I must say. Waking up. Sitting at the kitchen table. Having coffee and scrambled eggs with Ryan while Dahlia sleeps in. Not weird in a bad way. Just weird that I'm living like this when I now know everything I see, everything I touch... Isn't real.

It makes me stop for a moment. I prod at my eggs. Watch the light casting golden hues over Ryan's hair. Feel the wood of the table beneath my fingers. It's all so unsettling. Yet the atmosphere is so peaceful right now, I can't help but appreciate it a little.

Ryan doesn't try to speak. Just silently eats and reads something off his phone. Maybe he's like me. Maybe he doesn't like talking in the morning, either. It just ruins the pure, natural quiet. The small clinks of our forks on our plates, and the chirp of early birds outside the window. It's nice. I wish I could live this. Be used to it. Expect it when I wake up every day.

I wish this was real.

And for a moment, I imagine it is. There's no helmet threatening my death. No game that we're trapped in. No Dahlia, no Lilith, no Fake AH Crew, no thoughts of bridges or sunken cars.

I close my eyes, letting a small smile creep over my face. Because in this perfect world I've made up for myself, Ryan and I do this all the time. First, I wake up to find him already smiling down at me, moving a piece of my hair from my forehead. There's a dark, fresh hickey on his neck, and I'm sure there are plenty gracing my skin as well. He goes to make coffee while I stretch out my sore body, then join him in our quaint little kitchen. We eat breakfast, never breaking the silence. Our fingers are entwined across the tabletop. We'll get ready for work. His starts earlier than mine, so as I'm buttoning up my shirt for the day, I'll kiss him at the door and wish him a nice day.

When I open my eyes again, seeing him sitting across from me at the table, a fascinated look in his eyes as he watches me... I almost believe that it's true. That my daydream is reality.

But I slept alone last night. By that, I mean, I sat up staring out the window of the guest room, making a list of my fears and trying to swallow them without getting overwhelmed. I walked out of the room at five in the morning, dark circles under my eyes, and made myself coffee. Ryan came in, almost as tired looking as me, and made his own before cooking up some eggs.

It's still the best morning I've had in a while.

"You're such an interesting person," he claims, voice soft and low, and for the first time ever, it's a voice that doesn't ruin the peaceful morning feeling. "It's almost like you can see the thoughts as they occur."

"Great," I mutter. "Another thing to make me so easily readable."

He shrugs. "It's not entirely a bad thing. It's kind of... Fascinating." I hear another word, too quiet for me to hear exactly, but the first word alone has my face heating up. _What does he do to me?_

The words are on the tip of my tongue. The words that could change everything. The words that could ruin everything.

_It's a stimulation._

I'm sure Ryan didn't picture this when he snuck into it. Finding me. Wanting me. And I'm sure I didn't think I'd find him here either- especially if no one but Lilith's co-worker did. And I bet I certainly didn't expect to fall for anyone within this world.

I could say it. It would be so easy. So simple.

My mind flashes to the stimulation room. There were only cameras on the living rooms. Then again, maybe there actually are cameras everywhere. Maybe each different stimulation room had different monitors for separates areas of the house. Or something. I don't know. I don't trust it. I-

"What time does Dahlia usually wake up?" I ask, glancing at the clock on the wall. 7:16.

"Um... I don't know. Nine? Why?"

I relax my shoulders, leaning back in my chair. "She doesn't seem to like me, is all. And I... Kind of like our alone time," I murmur out, cheeks flushing even more. _Fucking christ, Ray, what are you doing_.

The grin I get in return for saying that makes up for my embarrassment, though. "Me too," he responds simply, standing up to put his empty coffee mug in the sink.

 _Alright, I didn't say that cheesy ass line for nothing. This is my chance_. I stand up close behind him, and instead of just waiting for my turn to rinse out my cup, I slide my arms around him and place it in the sink. Going on my toes, I kiss behind his ear, whispering against his skin, "Relax. Go with it. We're being watched and potentially listened to."

I feel his back stiffen against my chest for a moment, before he does as I said and relaxes, turning in my arms, which cage his body against the counter. Not that he couldn't easily get away if he wanted to. He gives me a fake smile, but I see the confusion in his eyes.

He leans down to kiss me quickly, and in a slightly tense voice, suggests, "Why don't we go for a quick walk? Dahlia will be fine for a while."

I nod, allowing him to take my hand and lead me to the front door. He helps me put my sweat shirt on- even zips it for me- and then we slip our shoes on before heading out. We walk in silence for about a block, hands still linked. Ryan nervously glances back every once in a while. Once we're out of sight of the house, he stops, and I turn to face him.

"What..." He pauses to gather his bearings, letting out a stressed puff of air as he briefly closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they're desperate. "Are we safe now?" I nod, and he continues. "What did you mean? My house is bugged?"

"Kind of, yeah," I say quietly, scuffing the toe of my converse on the ground, watching small bits of dirt and rock move with it. "Listen, there's- Something's going on. I don't know if you'll believe me, and you might think I'm lying for some fucked up reason, and you won't be happy about anything I'm about to tell you-"

"Ray," he interrupts me, fingers squeezing mine so I look up at him. "Just tell me."

I sigh, laughing a bit, though nothing is really funny about this. "You're going to think I'm absolutely insane."

"It'll take a lot for me to believe that."

"Well, this is a lot, so..." I run a hand through my hair, looking around. It's seven something on a Sunday- no one's around. "I- Fuck, I don't even know where to begin. How do I even say this? Just promise that no matter what I decide to start with, you'll hear me out until the end, because I just need to rip the bandaid off."

"Okay, I promise." Another gentle squieze of my hand.

_Ah, fuck._

"This isn't real." I already see him opening his mouth to question me, but I rush into my next words, holding a hand up. "No, you need to listen. I don't know if people are listening. And no, I'm not crazy, I'm not schizo, I'm not paranoid- we're in a stimulation. We've been in it for a month. We were implanted with fake memories. A government test. Me, Michael, Geoff, Jack, Gavin- we all signed up for this and were approved for it. You snuck your way in behind your sister's back. Which, by the way, Dahlia is actually your sister in disguise. I woke up from the stimulation yesterday, and so did she, and we could have _died_. It's dangerous to be in here. Anyways, what I'm basically trying to say is... We need to wake up. Or die trying."

He blinks at me with a blank expression, but I see him processing it slowly. "O-Okay..." He sighs shakily, clasping and unclasping his hands together anxiously. "Um... Are you high by any chance? Joking, at least? Please tell me you are."

I bite my lip, shaking my head.

He laughs, startling me despite it's quietness. "Okay. Okay, maybe you're not crazy. Maybe I am. I mean- a-a stimulation? And my daughter is my _sister_?" He laughs a bit louder, turning almost hysterical. "What the fuck kind of LSD are you on?"

I swallow nervously. "Listen, I know it's hard to believe- trust me, I wouldn't if I hadn't seen it all with my own eyes, but you have to believe me. Michael is alive again, Ryan. I saw him. Gavin saw him. He was touchable. Alive. He respawned. Like some fucked up video game. And you know who's playing it? Dahlia. On that pink DS of hers."

"That was yours, though!"

"The memory of it being mine was just implanted in me! It wasn't actually. Ryan, _please_. I can't stop her on my own. Hell, I don't know how to stop her at all." I'm begging now, taking a step forward and grasping his arm. "Please."

He's breathing heavily, eyes darting around, probably wondering- much like I did- how this could all be just a stimulation.

"I don't expect you to accept it all right now, I just need to know that you'll help me," I continue, but he holds up a hand to stop me.

"Yeah... Yeah, I get it. I may not be able to fully digest it at the moment, but..." He sighs out a small, "Fuck."

"Yeah. I know. A lot to swallow." I almost feel bad for having to tell him.

"So- we might die because of this?"

"I actually don't think that's the biggest of our concerns. This is government testing. We're in some facility somewhere, probably heavily guarded, and if we break out of the system, I don't think anyone will be particularly happy with us."

When I look at Ryan, I see something familiar in his eyes. An expression I've seen in the mirror far too many times. "Maybe that's why you did it... Subconsciously," he says slowly, looking up at the sky. "We'll be enemies of our own country if we survive. What kind of life is that? Either constantly running, or locked in a cell in the heart of America."

I drag in a deep breath of air, stepping closer to him. "We don't know that. Maybe... I don't know. Maybe once they see our loss of memory or-or how messed up we came out of this, they won't blame us. How can they? We don't know their reasons, we never got an explanation implanted in our fake memories, and they seem to have stolen away our real ones- even when I woke up."

He shakes his head, trying to pull away from me, but I grab at his other hand, holding both in my own. "This is messed up, Ray."

"I know. And it's like you said. Just a few weeks ago, I would have agreed with you. I would have just fallen off a bridge. Let go." Well, two times, since the whole second chance with the respawn thing... But he doesn't need to know that. Just in case. "But we can't. Not only because we'll just respawn, but even if we do just kill ourselves, what about the rest of the world? The reason they conducted this experiment was for mind control. This is all really fucked up, and I know it's asking a lot- trust me, I do- but don't give up on me here. Not now."

"Do you not realize that this is so much bigger than us?" He asks a bit breathlessly, looking down at me. "How on Earth are we supposed to do anything about this?"

"I don't know, okay!" I burst out, loud and angry. Only then do I become aware of just how tightly I'm gripping his hands, and I loosen them immediately. Not enough to let him go, though. "I don't know, but we have to try."

He shakes his head again, leaning down to press his forehead to mine. His eyes are closed, but I keep mine open, watching the way he bites at his lower lip. When he speaks, he sounds utterly defeated. "How are you supposed to tell the others?"

"With your help. Please. Michael can help- and so can Jack, if we can find him. They'll be easiest to convince."

He sounds pained as he says it, but he finally agrees. "Fine. Fine, I'll help you. I don't quite know how the hell- why we- I just don't know anything any more. But I'll try for you."

I smile in relief, but I know he can tell how forced it is. He knows the thank you I utter is sincere, though.

"Just promise me one thing," he says, blinking his eyes open.

"Anything."

"Don't die."

I huff a short laugh, shaking my head. "Been hearing that a lot lately. But I can't just-"

"For my sake, please, just promise. I don't know how I ended up here, I don't know how you wormed your way into my heart, and I especially don't know what will happen over the course of the next few days. There's just something about you..." He trails off, and I feel my heart pounding in my chest, a fast and hard beat. "You make it hard to let you go."

~~~

Blank stares.

It's really nerve-wracking.

Is it hot in here? I feel kind of hot. Or is it cold? I mean, we are at the park, and it is kind of windy. Are my hands clammy?

Oh god, I'm twitching and fiddling, they must really think I'm crazy now.

And there's also Ryan. Ya know. Who kidnapped me. Adultnapped me? Adultnap just sounds too pleasant to be sinister.

I ramble to myself when I'm nervous.

"Ahh, there's also... Michael," I say, meeting eyes with Gavin. "And Jack. But we don't know where Jack is. Which is an issue."

"Holy shit," I hear Geoff whisper. Suddenly, he's off the bench (had to make sure he was sitting when we told him) and rushing past me. Startled, I turn, seeing him embracing Michael, who must have appeared as I said his name. I smile at the sight, Geoff holding tight to the other man like he's family. We basically are, aren't we? All of us.

Finally, I turn to Gavin and Ryan and shrug. For once in this past month... I feel hope. "Let's find Jack."


	15. Sometimes to Stay Alive You've Got to Kill Your Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Migraine by twenty one pilots

The world started crumbling on a Friday afternoon.

Okay, that might be a bit dramatic, considering the only indication of that was a text massage.

_She knows._

I just hope Ryan's smart enough to get out, even if that is his pretend child. I've called him, and each time, it went straight to voicemail. His phone's off. Meanwhile, I'm up north, driving aimlessly, looking for a certain ginger by the name Jack.

"Michael, you track his phone yet?" I ask nervously, eyes peeled as Geoff drives us slowly through the suburbs. I glance to the backseat when I get no answer, seeing him absolutely invested on his tablet, and decide to leave him be.

"He might be holed up in a house somewhere," Geoff says, always the voice of reason. Er, well... Sometimes.

"Yeah, I guess, but that doesn't help us find him."

There's a beat of silence, in which the older man sighs, and finally suggests, "Maybe he's-"

"He's not."

"Okay, okay."

"Mi-"

"Got him. Hard left, now," Michael orders from the backseat, and the tires squeal as Geoff jerks the wheel, just managing to make the turn. "He's behind someone's house. In their... Pool?"

Geoff shrugs, following Michael's directions to the house. We stop at the end of the street, deciding to walk the rest of the way in case there's trouble. I pass the time checking my phone every to seconds, stressed about Ryan's text. Stressed not only because she might do something to Ryan, but also to us. Or even Jack. Oh god, what if he's dead? Just dumped in some poor guy's pool?

I don't voice these frantic thoughts, but from the comforting hand that squeezes my shoulder, it seems Michael can tell I'm panicked. Of course Michael would know. He's the guy to know when you're not okay. He's the guy to sacrifice himself. He's the guy who forces his dumb British boyfriend to stay home when shit gets too messed up.

And Gavin's the one who calls during missions.

Michael rolls his eyes as his phone rings, making him move away to answer it with a, "What the fuck, Gavin?"

I snort, moving up to walk with Geoff. He ruffles my hair a bit, and I scowl at him, but I secretly don't care. When I look at him, all I feel is guilt. For the things I've said to him, and taken from him, and all he does is give and give and give. I do nothing.

I'll get him out of here alive. That's what I'll do.

"Guys," Michael says, catching our attention. We stop, looking back at him. "Jack just arrived back at the house. Beat up. Badly injured. And this-" he licks his lips, taking a step back. "This is a trap. We have to go."

"Fuck, come on, lads," Geoff mutters, leading us in a run back down the street. To anyone watching, we probably look incredibly strange, just three men going up and now back down the street. People are probably peeking out their windows, not used to anything happening in their little neighborhood, wondering who the weird guys outside their houses are.

Or... Are they?

They're just NPC's, kind of... Right?

Do they care? Do they think? Are they anything more than fabricated beings in a stimulation?

I feel almost sick as we reach the car, sliding in. Just as Geoff is twisting the key, though, there's a click. So quiet, I almost can't hear it. But I'm so used to it. It's so distinctive. I know that click.

I turn lightning fast in my seat, gun raised. Michael's eyes are wide, and when he glances at what- or, who, actually- I'm pointing my gun at, he freezes. "Is that-?"

"Lilith. Aka, Dahlia. Nice to meet you." She grins like a shark, all perfect white teeth and cold, dead eyes. Now that Michael knows of her presence, she unceremoniously lets the barrel of her gun rest against his temple, and I see him swallow at the touch of the metal.

Geoff curses under his breath, letting go of the keys- car still off- and slowly twisting to look at them. "God damn. You know, Ray, I was really hoping that you were just insane. That we wouldn't find Jack here. That Michael didn't actually die, and we buried him alive on accident."

"By accident," Lilith huffs quietly, earning a glare from Geoff.

"And you. I really regret 'saving' you from Burns, you know that? You were cuter as a kid. And you didn't correct me as a kid. You didn't talk at all- which was fantastic, by the way."

"Oh, boo hoo. I didn't come here to be bitched at by an old man," she snarls. _Seriously? The government hired her?_ "I've got our little friend Ryan back at his house."

I can't help it when I growl, "What did you do to him?"

She smirks, eyes sinister. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"You little bitch, I'll-"

"You'll what?" She threatens back, a hand curling into Michael's hair and jerking his head back, the gun visibly pressing into his skin, most likely leaving marks behind. "Little Mikey here only has one life left, Ray." Then suddenly, she's laughing. High pitched and ringing throughout the car.

"Oh no," Geoff sighs.

"Oh yes. Things just got much more interesting..." She cocks her head, looking directly at me, grin still in place. "For you especially, Ray." She turns to Geoff. "Now drive."

~~~

After directing Geoff to Ryan's house, dragging Michael in at gunpoint as bait so we won't run, and tying us all up surprisingly tight in a room with Ryan... She leaves. Just goes out the door. No words. No blindfolds put on. No duct tape. No supervisor.

"Michael, Ryan- you guys okay?" Geoff asks, leaning forwards to see past me. We're lined up him, me, Michael, then Ryan.

"Fine," Michael grumbles, pissed that he was the pawn piece.

"Well my daughter just turned into my sister, most of the crew is disabled now, and the only people we have left to help us are the two softies of our group. And one of them is _Gavin_. So physically, sure, I'm fine, but..." Ryan trails off, and from the corner of my eye, I see him shrug.

"So we're basically screwed, is what you're saying," I deadpan, and a confirming silence settles over us. I let out a long breath, sagging against the wall.

_This is my life now._

~~~

I must have dozed off. Makes sense. Anyone would be exhausted, what with everything going on. What wakes me is the door opening, and muttered, British cursing.

I blink my eyes opening, seeing Geoff looking just as bleary, but Ryan and Michael are wide awake.

Lilith forces Jack and Gavin against the wall, pushing on their shoulders to make them sit. Backing up, she admires her display of tied up captives. She got us. The full Fake AH Crew.

"Lovely," she decides at last, closing the door to the room, slipping a handgun from her waistband as she does. It has a muffler on it, but even if someone around here heard the unmasked sound of the gun, she's in control of this universe. No one would come running. "Time to play, boys."

She paces in front of us. A predator examining her prey. She's not contemplating what to do- it's clear that she knows. She's just playing with her food. Building up our nerves. I refuse to be a piece in her game, though. With every animalistic look she sends my way, I meet it with void eyes and a neutral expression. It makes her twitch. Itch with vexation. She hates it. She hates _me._

"Let's start with my dear brother, shall we?"

It's obviously aimed towards me more than Ryan. Deep down, I have a feeling that despite everything, this little monster still has a soft spot. A place in her heart that won't allow her to do much cruelty to her brother. I remain placid.

"Not enough for you guys, huh? Do you really care about him that little?" She questions, yanking Ryan by the rope around his wrists so he kneels in front of her, nudging his knee to make him face us. "What if I... Threw Michael into the mix?" She does the same to him, so the two men kneel side by side. Her hand idly strokes Ryan's hair, much like she did to mine.

Fuck. There it was. That tiny opening for her. She caught the look in my eye. Saw the minuscule wince.

"Oh, do you not like when I touch the merchandise?" She trails the barrel of her gun down Michael's cheek, under his chin, forcing it to tilt so he looks up at her. At his enraged narrow eyes, she shivers slightly. "You're not going to be feisty on me now, are you?" The corner of her mouth quirks up. "Not that I would mind all too much..."

I feel sick.

"And Ryan. You'll be a good for your little sister, right?" Her other hand slides to his neck.

" _D-Don't touch them_ ," I spat, aiming for harsh, but the unimaginable anger underlying the words make them quiver on the way out.

"You know, Ray, you're very intriguing. You're mind is so complex, and my machines take in loads of precious data from you. I could just look up the patterns of your opinions and choices, but as an engineering scientist, I'd rather the fun of a true experiment. A stimulation of a certain situation, you could say." A small giggle escapes her, only adding to the discomfort and disgust pooling in my gut. It creates an overwhelmingly bad feeling of what's to come.

"You've taken my thoughts. You've taken my freedom. Hell, you've practically taken my life. What more could you possibly take from me?" I ask levelly. She seems all too delighted by the question.

"I'm glad you asked!" She removes her gun from below Michael's chin, moving it to the side of his head. "A best friend?" With her free hand, she removes another gun, hidden in an inner pocket of her jacket, and presses it to Ryan's head. "A lover?" Another devious grin. "You're choice."

Ah. So this is what she had in mind from the start. She just wants to hurt me. Because I started this all. I was the catalyst. I told them. Brought everyone together. The reason this all went wrong is because of me.

"You wouldn't."

She raises a blonde eyebrow. "You seem so sure of yourself, but should you be?"

"You wouldn't hurt Ryan, at least."

"So is that your choice, then?" She asks, starting to lower the gun from Michael's head. She notices the way my body tenses, and pauses in the action. "No?" She scoffs a bit. "You'd sacrifice your best friend for your boyfriend? Pathetic." She tucks away the gun from Ryan's head, about to flick off the safety off on the one against Michael's.

"No!"

"For fuck's sake, make up your mind," she snaps, shifting the gun without the safety on between her hands. "Who will it be, Ray?"

I open my mouth, the two names stuck in my throat. I can't think. I can't breathe. Michael is hanging his head, refusing to look at me, but Ryan's eyes are staring daggers into me. Not to be saved. Quite the opposite, actually.

I can't look at him any more.

"10... 9... 8..."

My heart jumps, and I look at the rest of my crew around me, but none of them meet my gaze. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck-

"Ryan."

She doesn't even hesitate.

The gun's to his head, and just like that...

Bang.

Thump.

He's gone.

And I don't even have the decency to look at him as he falls.

~~~

No one talks about it. We're too scared to. It was my fault- my decision, and we all know that. There's no changing it. So we sit in silence once again, except this time, I doubt I'll be able to as much as close my eyes. Even when I blink, there are quick flashes of his face. Was it just yesterday we were sitting quietly in his kitchen, watching the early morning sun rise through the small window above his sink? The sink in _this_ house? Was it just yesterday, that instead of a cleared out holding space for captives, this was the guest bedroom I slept in? And was it only a month ago, when I lived alone, listening to music full blast, moping around until Michael dragged me out of the house? I think I've forgotten what the voices of my favorite singers sound like.

I focus my mind on a faint tapping I hear- Michael's foot against the carpet, making a muffled noise, keeping a steady beat. To what? I'm not sure. Maybe there's a symphony in his head. Maybe there's silence.

I can't imagine how he feels. Actually, that's a lie, I know him too well not to know exactly how he feels. By now, I guess I'm just trying to convince myself I don't, so I don't have to think about it. It slips into my brain anyways. Of course it does. It always does.

Michael, unlike most humans on this Earth- in this game- is actually kind of selfless. He only acts selfish, but in reality, he always has someone else in mind for whatever he does. I knew by the way he wouldn't meet my eyes, and still won't, that he'd have rather been chosen. By the downward tilt of his head, I knew, and he knows that I knew. He was silently, in a way that only I would pick up on, begging me to say his name instead of Ryan's. He knew I wouldn't, though. Yet he still flinched at the gunshot. Still winced at the fall of his body. Still curled in on himself when he was shoved back against the wall again. Still taps his foot as a part of his coping- a distraction, a tiny release for his ADHD, a dead giveaway that he's trying so hard to take his mind off of Ryan.

I should feel bad.

I don't feel bad.

I think, in moments like those, where the lives of your comrades are threatened, it's easy to forget that this is still just a stimulation. That Michael had only one life- this life- left. And that Ryan had two.

Maybe I should tell him, but I'm just afraid that Lilith is nearby, listening. Afraid at all times. How long have we even been in this room? It could only be about two hours or so after the, ah... Incident. _Wow, Ray, that's what you're calling your practical murder?_ Better than calling it my practical murder. The thing is, I know it's what Ryan wanted, but sometimes people think they want to be the one you sacrifice, but when you actually do it, they're like, _what the fuck you actually did it?_ I just hope he realizes why I had to.

"Bloody hell, I can't stand this any more," Gavin bursts out, making us all turn our heads in interest. "Geoff is severely pissed, Jack is severely disappointed, Michael is severely depressed, and Ray severely does not give a damn. You know what I am?"

"Severely annoying?" Michael mutters, but is promptly annoyed.

"Severely bored."

"Bored? We're tied up and locked in some crazy chick's house, and you're _bored_?" Michael starts in that usual tone he uses for Gavin. Like, when he's being a dumb asshole. It's actually kind of comforting, hearing it. "Oh well, _sorry_. Maybe next time she comes in to shoot one of us in the head, we'll ask her for a board game. Fuckin' Monopoly, anyone? Jesus Christ, Gavin, what the hell do you mean you're _bored_?"

Gavin doesn't even look sorry, and heaven knows that Michael isn't actually ticked. They share a look, and a while ago, I might have found it disgusting. I get it now, though. The affection. The admiration. The love.

I get it.

 _Ryan will be okay_ , I tell myself, sliding down the wall to lay on my back. _Ryan will be okay, and so will I._ My eyes close. _We all will._


	16. Sick of All the Games I Have to Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Soap by Melanie Martinez (queen)

Jack's stomach is the first to growl. Big surprise. Mine's the next. Once again, big surprise (note the sarcasm).

It's not long after we start to get hungry that we realize Lilith will not be bringing us food. Which, well, I don't think I'd have eaten it anyways. Anything she'd try to feed us would probably be laced with some kind of lethal substance, and that's no fun.

Except now Jack is making eyes at us as if we're all just tall, juicy steaks to him.

We all just avoid the hunger in his eyes.

What we should be doing is making a plan- but, of course, I've spotted all the recording devices in the corners of the room, alongside teeny tiny little cameras that almost completely blend into the shadows. Almost.

So we sit. And we wait. For what exactly, we're not sure. To wake up? To die? To finally be fed?

We wait.

~~~

By the brightness of the moonlight coming through the window (which faces West), sunrise is within just a few hours, and I'm wide awake again.

Ryan was shot at around nine.

I took a nap around midnight.

Woke up after only an hour or so.

Found everyone else passed out.

It's not fun. Being stuck with your thoughts in the dark, among people you envy because they escape their minds within their sleep. All I can really think about is Ryan. Of course. My grossly lovesick brain can only imagine him. In the stimulation chair. Kneeling beside Michael. Sitting, dangerous, on his motorcycle. And one memory... Distant. Haven't revisited it in a long time. It causes a ghost ache in my shoulder, where an apparition presses against it, and silence whispers husky threats into my ear. I recall his mouth. His nose. Dragging across my skin. Terrifying- not because I hated it, but because I liked it, loved it, like some sort of masochist.

Makes me shiver, even now.

"Ray?"

I tense for a moment, but realize that it's only Michael. But then realize- _shit. It's Michael_. The thought of pretending to sleep enters my mind, but only briefly. I owe it to him to not be an asshole right now.

"Listen, Michael," I start, but he immediately cuts me off.

"No, _you_ listen. I'm not mad. I promise. Just, please." I hear him let out a shaky, uneven breath, and the carpet sighs as he shifts closer, until I feel his arm side-by-side with mine. It's not like we can do much more, with our wrists bound. Not that we'd cuddle or anything.

"I'm listening," I tell him, shooing my thoughts away to focus on his voice.

"You can't be afraid to kill me. You-"

"I don't regret my decision, Michael, you can't make me think that I should."

"That's not what I'm trying to say. I'm just saying... There will come a point when we're all on our last lives. And you might have to make a choice. You might have to let one of us go. You can't die, though, Ray. Not you- and I'm not just saying that because you're my best friend. You're the one that knows it all. You're the one that Lilith likes best. She has the ability to easily kill all of us. You know that. I know that. She does- if she's listening. With you around, she's willing to play. Maybe, if we just play a little bit longer... If you play a little bit longer... You'll get out of this."

I close my eyes, making them tight and blocking out any light there may be in the room. It takes a long bout of silence for me to speak, but Michael's always been an avid, patient listener for me.

"If I wasn't suicidal bastard before, I certainly am now," I mutter. "I have an idea."

"Fuck yeah you do."

~~~

It was simple, really. The hardest part was the communication. How to convey what I needed without Lilith figuring it out. It went something like that one iCarly episode where that crazy girl- Nora, I think- had them trapped in their basement, and they sent that video to Gibby like, "Every Fourth!" "Word!"

Yeah. It was messy and difficult and just- whatever. It worked after, like, an hour of frustration and Michael internally screaming.

That's how him and I ended up back to back, having a deep conversation that was totally absolutely not planned (again, sarcasm) while simultaneously undoing each others' bonds. It's just rope. Rope that's tied really tight _god damn._

It's hard to hold a conversation about the meaning of life while getting so frustrated.

It comes to a point where, even if we do eventually untie each other, I realize that I don't have much of a plan after this. "Alright, fuck this. Does anyone have a cellphone?"

Michael sighs, fed up. "No, she confiscated all of them."

I groan, shifting away from him and leaning against the wall again. "Okay. Um. Plan B."

"There's a Plan B?"

"Uh... Yes?"

_No._

~~~

It's late again. Or, rather, early. A new day is quickly approaching. I'm still finding it hard to sleep. Especially with my hands behind my back and my ankles stuck together. My shoulders are starting to ache, along with my back and thighs and a migraine is coming on, dear lord, help me.

But no help is coming.

So I look at the ceiling in the dark and paint a mental picture on its blank white canvas. Shadows turn into figures and lines turn into scenery. Just as I'm grasping an image, it all runs together again, and I'm left with only the sight of the ceiling.

I rub idly rub at my wrists, which are getting scratchy and irritated from rubbing against the rough rope for so long. At least Michael seems to have loosened them a bit.

When my arms start feeling numb from being laid on, I roll onto my stomach, head turned sideways towards the window. From the floor, all that's visible is the sky- endless darkness that looks like it could swallow the planet whole.

But we're not on a planet, technically. We're in a stimulation. A game, almost. Things are clicking to place in my brain, as to why exactly we're all here.

Whose minds better to control than those that are insane?

There are the depressed.

There are the absolutely crazy.

There are the angered.

There are the insecure.

And to top it all off, we're all murderers here.

I could bet that they're holding other stimulations, similar to this one, except the selected people live as different members of society. We pulled the short straw and got a murderous gang.

I wonder if the other stimulations are going as bad as this one. Maybe someone like Lilith had to interrupt and try to put them in line, like she's doing to us now.

Well, trying to.

I wonder if Lilith is just as mad as us.

~~~

" _Ray_."

I startle awake, but a small hand covers my mouth quickly. Squinting through the bleariness in my eyes, I look towards the voice.

Lilith.

I give her a confused, half glare half questioning look, and she rolls her eyes at me. She inclines her head briefly towards the door, taking her hand from over my mouth to cut my ankle bindings and help me stand up. I follow obediently as she leads me out the door, turning to close it and do up several locks. Wow. Then we're off to the kitchen, where she sits me in a chair and binds my legs to it. It was a short-lived taste of freedom.

Once she's seated across from me, I finally ask, "So why'd you bring me out here?"

She tilts her head, and instead of answering, says, "How are you feeling?"

I huff out a laugh. "For fuck's sake, please don't psychoanalyze me."

"But why?" There's a spark of something I don't like in her eyes, and I notice the way her hands grip the arms of her chair a little tighter. "You're interesting."

I ignore the comment. "Is that honestly the only reason you brought me out here?"

She purses her lips. "If you must know..." I wait for a moment, but she seems distracted again, looking past me. When I look over my shoulder, there's nothing there. Just the wall, with it's pale creamy yellow color. A color too warm and homey for the imprisonment taking place.

I turn back, finding that she now holds a gun casually in her hand. I raise an eyebrow. She shrugs. "I don't trust you."

"Fair enough."

She frowns at me. "You know, I really thought you loved my brother." I avert my eyes, instead opting to look out the window. The same window I looked out a few days ago, thinking about the man of topic as someone important to me- someone I could live a life with. And I still dream that dream. "But then you chose your friend over him. The little angry one. I just wonder why."

"Well, I guess you obviously wouldn't understand the meaning of friendship, so I'll explain." I glance at her, catching the anger in her eyes. "Friends like Michael and I, who have a history- whether implanted or not- stick by each other. Ever heard of bros before hoes?"

"What are suggesting about my brother?"

"Nothing. It's just a saying. Always pick your best friend before your crush. Lovers come and go, friends like us hold on until there's nothing left."

"What a touching moral," she scoffs sarcastically, and I close my eyes briefly, controlling my vexation.

"You know, it sucks that I have to keep explaining things to you. Why don't you explain something to me?" I ask harshly, and she looks shocked for a moment. "Why don't you explain why you're really doing this. I find it hard to believe the government wants some psycho girl running around in their stimulation, killing their test subjects off, keeping them imprisoned even though it's not like we can get out of this dumb thing anyways."

"Well, you caught me there," she relents, leaning back. I hear the faint click of the gun's safety going on, off, on, off, an endless loop. "The stimulation... Can get to people." She's somber as she explains, expression growing less and less snarky. "I don't know why I'm still here. I guess, truth be told, I don't know how to get out either. I did that one time, but I can't... I don't remember how. So I think the government has turned me into a test subject, too."

There's no venom in my voice when I ask, "So why do you keep us locked up in that room? Why do you threaten to kill us all the time? Why did you shoot your brother?"

"I didn't want to," she growls, but her anger subsides immediately, turning into despair. "I didn't want to," she repeats more calmly. "It's like I said. The stimulation gets to people. Messes with their heads. I fell victim to that. I still do. In my moments of clarity, like right now, I want to set you free. I really do, I promise, but I'm scared," she admits, eyes glued to the gun in her hand. Her finger stops clicking the safety. She leaves it on. "People like Ryan, like Michael, even like Geoff- they'll kill me. Right? No matter what I say, even if you assured them, too... They'll do it. Michael most of all. He knows the spawn point. After I'm gone once, he'd wait there all day and night just to do it again. Kill me for good."

"I wouldn't let him," I try, but she's shaking her head.

"You know... In the real world, Michael's a good person. God, he's _such_ a great guy. He has a lovely wife who he absolutely spoils, he's humble, he's kind. He still has that brutal anger, but it's just yelling. He amps it up because it's funny, he's not actually that insane about it. He's probably one of the nicest people I've met. But here, he's not..." She struggles for words, gnawing on her lip. "He doesn't have a wife, a job, normal society to keep him functioning. The stimulation got to him, too. It's gotten to all of you." Her hands tighten on the gun. "Ryan the most."

"Lilith, I know that this is all fucked up in so many ways, but you can't keep us here. Or, if you do, at least talk to us. We can figure this out. We can be free."

She shakes her head, and I feel her slipping away. A coldness passes over the room. "No, Ray. We can't. Maybe..." She flicks the safety off on the gun again, contemplating it in her hands. Feels the weight. "Maybe I can save you guys, though."

"Lilith, don't-"

"Why?" She looks at me, eyes dangerous again. "You were jumping off bridges, getting close to my psychopath brother, throwing yourself into dangerous jobs like a suicidal bastard not too long ago." She lifts the gun, pointing it straight at me. I swallow as I look down the barrel.

"Lilith."

"No!" She stands, chair falling back with a scrape, but I barely hear it over the blood rushing in my ears. "I can save you all! I'll put you out of your misery! The government will love it!" She laughs, the sound high and crazy. Faintly, I hear the crew, locked in that room, yelling my name. "They'll get to watch me go crazy, all on my own." I watch her finger tightening over the trigger, but not yet enough to fire it off. "Won't that be interesting. Won't that be useful." She shakes her head, one last time. "This is for _you_ , Ray. This is for your own good."

My heart stutters in my chest.

_Th-Thump._

Michael screams in the distance.

_Ray._

A gun goes off.

_Bang._

But I can't hear a thing.


	17. I Really Don't Want This to Be the Last of Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Limelight by Boyinaband ft. Cryaotic (actual bae)

When I was a kid- like, actually a kid, not a memory the stimulation put into my brain- I watched TV a lot. I don't know why this is the only memory that's come to me so far, but I'll take it.

I watched TV a lot. Any dumb old thing I could find- mostly cheesy cartoons about superheroes or whatever. Televisions back then, though, kind of sucked. Ours was a small, heavy black box with those cliché antennas that we had to hold in place with some of my old building blocks because they- yeah, it was just really annoying back then. Despite those faithful building blocks, the TV would still sometimes give up on us. I'd be in the middle of watching some animation of some kid fighting some monster that was green and goopy and it would be totally epic and then-

Static.

Which, well, was obnoxious. The static was the worst. I would cover my ears and yell until someone came into the room and shut the TV off for me.

What I did like, though, was that colorful, lined screen with the constant beep behind it. It was a wonderful white noise that I would sit and listen to quietly and happily until the TV fixed itself again. I don't why I was so entranced by the noise. I just was.

It's what I hear now.

Guns are... loud. Especially in tiny apartment kitchens. And no open windows and hardly any open space. It's kind of nice, though. The beating of my heart has stopped thrumming in my ears. Michael's shouts have faded. And Lilith. Thank god, Lilith's voice is gone.

Because she's dead.

And as her blood slowly seeps from the wound in her head, sound returns.

Michael's screaming. Still my name.

My frantic pulse. Still racing.

Ryan. Ryan's voice. Ryan's deep, concerned, gentle voice. Hands on my shoulders, my sides, my face, my neck. Lips on my own. Soft, but with purpose. With desperation. An _I missed you_. I missed him, too.

It's over too soon, though, but I can't complain when I see his eyes. His eyes, which are a shade lighter, a spark brighter, a thousand times more beautiful than Lilith's, all because they're Ryan's.

"Did she hurt you?" He asks, hands roaming again, eyes searching. Utterly speechless, all I can do is shake my head. He sighs, resting his forehead on my shoulder. "Thank god." Wrapping his arms around me, I feel the cool hilt of a knife, and hear a snap as the rope binding my wrists is cut away. When it's finally gone, I bring my hands up around his back, both embracing him and rubbing at the sore, reddened marks on my skin. His nose nudges my collarbone as he tucks his head in further, murmuring my name against the jutting bone.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, even though I shouldn't. He doesn't say anything in response, though. Just subtly shakes his head. He gets it. I'm not sorry for choosing him, but I'm sorry for... Everything else in the universe. Lilith said that the stimulation got to Ryan the most. Made the Mad King. Ryan the Murder Guy. Implanted the Vagabond memories in him. A lost child. A broken heart. But this Ryan, who holds me so close, knows me so well... This must be the real Ryan. I know it is.

He slips from my hold, cutting the ties on my ankles and taking my hand to help me stand up. He doesn't let go after.

"Come on," he says quietly, with a gentle tug on my arm. "Michael's probably going insane."

~~~

Geoff's fancy ass modern couch has never felt more like home as I sink into the cushions, Ryan on one side, Michael on the other, Gavin basically sitting on him. Usually, we'd be spread out, bodies inclined towards the wide coffee table, files and maps and beer bottles and bongs scattered across its surface. Not now, though, and probably never again. It almost... No, it definitely makes me sad. Despite the suicide missions and suicide attempts and suicidal amounts of drugs, I'll miss this life. Right now, it's all I've ever known. I don't know what the real world is like, or how I fit into society- if I even fit in at all. And these guys... I already know Michael has a wife and job. The real Ryan, what Lilith seemed to hint at, probably does, too. Maybe that DILF feel I first got of him was right. Maybe he actually is a dad.

What am I, though? Young and dumb and lazy as I am, how could I ever be living a good life out there? Perhaps that's why I'm here in the first place- volunteered because I have nothing to lose. If that's the case, though, what about the rest of them? They're too good to not have something to lose.

Lilith said that waking up is the flip of a coin. You either do, or you don't. You either live, or you die. We each have a 50% chance of living.

Fuck. How is that fair? How is any of this fair?

"Ray?" Ryan asks gently, and I look at him from where I was staring off into space. I offer a tiny, forced smile, and he can tell how hard it is for me to get it out. He looks like he wants to ask, and I don't want him to, but Geoff and Jack stroll into the room just then, gaining full attention.

Jack takes a seat with the rest of us while Geoff stands before us, tattooed hands clasped in front of him. "Alright, crew. As we know, we have twenty-four hours if we want to go to the spawn point and take down Lilith..." He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "But we're not going to."

I glance at Jack in confusion, but he keeps his gaze strictly forward on our leader.

"We've killed in the universe. Many times. Cops, competing crime bosses, even innocent civilians. We know how to do it, we know how to suppress any regret, and we know how to feel nothing." He looks away from us, down at his hands, which isn't like him. He's usually animated, keeping eye contact, absolutely stone cold. Right now, his posture and his voice is filled with emotion. "I remembered. I have a wife, a kid, a really awesome job, really awesome coworkers..." He shakes his head. "I don't know why I'm here. I don't know why I was made a crime boss. But this isn't us. At least those other people we killed, they were just part of the stimulation. Lilith is real. Lilith is like us. She probably has an actual life worth living, too. Are we going to take that away? Are we going to become real murderers?"

The room is silent for a moment. But then- "No," Gavin practically whispers. He clears his throat, repeating louder, "No." And then we're all following suit, shaking our heads and muttering refusals. He's right. This _isn't_ us. Lilith told me that herself.

While everyone's saying no, though, Ryan hasn't said a word.

I put my hand on his arm, leaning close to talk below the noise of the others. "You know that's not you, Ryan. Come on. There's only a 50% chance she'll make it out anyways. There's only a 50% chance for all of us. If we die, we shouldn't die with blood on our hands." He remains silent still, and I grip his arm tighter. "How did you feel when you respawned, knowing that she didn't hesitate for even a second to shoot you? Betrayed? Hurt? Wondering how she could do that?" His nod is minuscule, but I catch it. "Well, don't be a hypocrite, Rye-bread."

Finally, he lets out a breath he must have been holding in, rolling his eyes. Everyone's hushed now, and eventually, their eyes turn to us. To Ryan, mostly.

He looks around, and I love the faint pink tint that lights up his cheeks. "What?" He asks innocently.

"Well, we were kind of in a dire situation before, so I guess none of us really brought it up..." Gavin starts, shrugging, "But are we just not going to talk about, you know, your chiseled jaw and pretty eyes and blonde hair that I really want to touch?" Michael and I both give an equally as menacing glare, and he squawks. "What?! It's true!"

"Gavin, shut the hell up," Michael sighs, shoving him further onto the couch.

"Come on! We even know his name now!"

"Shut up," Michael repeats, pushing Gavin's legs off his lap.

"But he's so-!"

"I swear to god, Gavin," Michael mutters, grabbing his face and bringing their lips together. I'm half disgusted, half internally going _aww, look at these fucks._

"Please don't fuck on the couch," Geoff grumbles.

My amused my smile fades fast, though. A thought plagues my mind. Has me wondering... _What if they make it out alive?_ Michael apparently has this whole, wonderful life. Gavin, all good looks and foreign accent, probably has someone, too. Will we regain our memories of our lives? Will remembering even make a difference, with the bond Michael and Gavin have formed?

I can't help but glance at Ryan. Ryan, with his incognito dad shoes and weirdly loving personality beneath his menacing exterior and how cared so much for what he thought was his child. And here I was, naïve as ever, daydreaming of breakfast dates and living together, sharing a bed and...

I can't even think about it any more. The possibility of there being someone else for him, someone who means so much more than me to him... I honestly don't know how to feel. If I die, he'll be able to forget quick. If I live... I'll have to let him go.

"Ray?" Ryan asks, and I blink out of my daze, turning to him. He reaches a hand towards me, hesitant, but draws it under my jaw.

"Yeah?" I try to say back, but it comes out in a breathless whisper.

Instead of replying, he brings me closer and places his lips over mine, capturing them in a gentle kiss. It's short. Simple. Sweet. Filled with a thousand words. And when he pulls away, his eyes are filled with sadness that likely mirror my own.

He knows.

~~~

We're at the respawn point. Apparently it's in a house, not inhabited but still immaculately clean and modernly decorated. Guns are tucked in our belts. We're all in formation. While Jack had shot us all, looking very pained to do so, Michael prepared to catch Lilith. She now sits tied up and blind folded in the corner. The last person we're waiting for is Gavin, Geoff and I having already respawned.

The respawn process was... Uneventful, to say the least. I was conscious, but everything was pitch black, and I was left with just my thoughts for twenty-four hours. It was not a good time.

When Gavin flickers into existence, Michael breaks his stone cold silence and launches into his arms. Once again, I feel my heart breaking for them, and when Ryan slips his hand into mine at the sight, I feel my heart breaking for us.

"Ready?" Michael asks us all soon after, and he has a nearly white-knuckled grip on Gavin's hand. Gavin, for once, doesn't seem to mind.

Geoff nods first, fingers are twitching at his waistband, already prepared to draw. We all follow suit, anxious of what will happen.

Jack, hair pulled out of his face and feminine clothes on, is the calmest of the crew. His expression is troubled, but his posture is relaxed and prepared.

Ryan is stoic as ever. The soft and open expression of just last night is completely gone, consumed by the hardened exterior once more.

Gavin is quiet for once, looking pensively at the floor, but his thoughts must be a whirlwind. A terrible storm of fear and panic and all those poor Gavin emotions that I know he feels.

And Michael. Michael's angry. I fear he'll break Gavin's shooting hand before we can even go through with the plan, he's holding it so tight. That's the one indication of his weakness. That iron grip. He needs the feel of someone else, someone stable, because right now... He's scared.

I am, too.

We're not allowed to be scared right now, though. So, despite the twisting feeling in my gut and the shaking in my knees and prodding reminder in the back of my mind that, _this is probably the end of the line for us_ , I remain standing. I keep my upper body under control. I draw my gun, and we circle around the girl.

Geoff on Jack, Jack on Ryan, Ryan on me, me on Gavin, Gavin on Michael, and Michael with one on Geoff and one on Lilith. When Geoff unties her blindfold, letting it fall away so she can squint up at us, she doesn't look as surprised as I would have guessed.

"Ah," she says quietly instead. "So this is how it ends, yeah? Kind of like some sick suicide pact, if you ask me." When she only gets silence, she scowls. "Salty."

"People monitor the stimulation at all times, correct?" Jack asks, voice even. She nods. "And they can hear us loud and clear?" She nods again.

"Hey, assholes!" Michael growls, looking up and around. "We have a proposal. Though, that makes it sound like you have choice." He smirks, flicking the safety off his gun. We all do the same. "The government wants us for research, yeah? Wouldn't want to lose your precious test subjects. Word is, we have lives. Friends. Family. Even if you tried to cover it up, it'd be suspicious. Word would get around.

"We're all on our last lives," he continues, pressing the gun closer to Lilith's head. "And we'd all die first than live through any more of this bullshit, willingly or not. Look at us all. There is no choice. You either get us out of here, or I give the word to shoot. We'll all go down."

Nothing. Everything is still.

"You have five seconds!" Michael threatens, and they _must_ know, they _must_ hear that he's serious. They must see that we're all serious. "Five!" Unless we're nothing to them. "Four!" Unless Lilith lied to me. "Three!" Unless this isn't really the government's doing at all. "Two!" Unless this is real. "One! Alright, fuckers. Prepare to lose us. Prepare to have a lot of explaining to do." He looks around at us all. And we know. Even if they didn't stop us, we'd rather it be this way.

Right?

... _Right?_

"See you assholes in hell," I mutter, and offer one last, meek smile.

"Fire!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh spoopy. Who will survive? Will there be a point of view change? What if someone doesn't shoot? Endless possibilities. The next chapter is my canvas. Will I create or destroy?
> 
> The answer is both.


	18. Love Yourself So No One Has To (They're Better Off Without You)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Therapy by All Time Low

_~Joel's Point of View~_

"What's all that racket?"

"I don't know. The angry one's screaming again."

"Turn on the visual."

He yawns, a sigh intermingling with it, but reaches over and pressed the key anyway.

"Oh, holy fuck," he mutters, leaning close to the screen.

Impatient, I shove his chair away, the wheels carrying him out of my line of sight.

"...Prepare to lose us," Michael's saying, and hand tightening on the gun in his hand. It's like a wave, the way everyone else automatically does it too, preparing to shoot. "Prepare to have a lot of explaining to do."

Ray mutters something, too quiet for the mics to pick up.

"Fuck," I whisper, hand shooting down to hover over the Wake key. "Fuck. Fuck!" I close my eyes, gritting my teeth.

"Fire!" Michael shouts.

"Fuck!" My finger slams onto the button, and I'm holding my breath, waiting for... Something. Gunshots. Words. Anything at all. But there's nothing. When I squint my eyes open again, the house in the screen is empty. I turn to the monitor showing the stimulation rooms, seeing several bodies sitting still, and several bodies moving and looking disoriented. I fall back into a chair, resting my head on the desk. I open my cellphone, blindly hitting speed dial. "Barb? Yeah, it's me... They're awake, I know... Yeah. The operation is a- it's a fail. We're done here. Get them to the infirmary... Tie them up, obviously! Just take care of them, for god's sake!" I hang up, angrily getting to my feet and throwing my phone across the room. It shatters on the opposite wall.

Gus, still sitting shocked in his chair, is wide-eyed and staring. I glare at him, making him scramble up. "S-Sir-"

"What?!" I growl, making him stumble backwards. "Go! Go help! Get out of here!"

My chest is heaving as he leaves, and it's only when the door is closed behind him that I fall to my knees. My hands grip my hair, tugging and yanking and- and-

" _Fuck_."

~~~

Having pulled myself together, I make my way to the stimulation rooms. Staff and doctors are bustling in and out of each door, either trying to console the living or revive the dead. Not that CPR will help reverse a shock to the brain.

I enter the first room, and I'm surprised for a moment to find that it's Burnie's room. I guess we all forgot about him... He's dead now, anyways, so I suppose that's that. "Give it up," I tell the woman pumping his chest with her hands. She looks up, eyes wide and confused. "He's gone, trust me. Take his body away."

I move onto the next room, leaving the woman still standing there, taken aback. Things are much crazier in this room, loud instructions and angry questions being thrown around the air. Geoff's room.

I place my fingers in my mouth, whistling loudly. Everyone goes silent. I stroll over to Geoff's chair, finding him gripping his helmet tight between his hands, sending glares to everyone around the room. Despite his hard looks and his previous pissed off shouting, he's shaking like a leaf. When his eyes lock on mine, his expression only grows colder, and he shakes even more with rage.

"Secure him," I order, immediately walking out of the room, calling over my shoulder, "And don't let him break the helmet!"

"I'll fucking break it if I want to, you-"

The door closes, and I open the next one, giving the nurse rushing out a scalding look. She squeaks out a sorry, running away, yelling to her coworkers about backup. Make's sense, considering this is Ryan's room. Must mean he's well.

"On your feet so soon?" I drawl, and he turns away from the group of frightened staff that's backed against the wall. The look in his eyes is feral. "Maybe you should take a bit of a breather. You've been through a lot," I try, aiming for the good guy vibe. He simply scowls.

"Joel," he mutters. "Joel, Joel, Joel. That's right. This is all _your_ fault."

I hold up my hands, staying a safe distance from him. "Hey, I just did my job. This is all for a greater purpose, don't you remember?"

He goes to run at me, but a few men step forward and grab him by the arms, pulling him back. Someone kicks out his knees, and it takes a joint effort of people to pin him to the ground, his muscles still straining even against their combined weight.

"Don't worry," I tell them, "Guards are on their way."

Next room. Jack.

He looks rough. The machine almost got to him, but I guess he pulled through the zap. Interesting. His consciousness seems patchy at best, so I decide to let the doctors handle it, and quickly move on.

Ray. Ah, the bastard. Of course he's alive. This is the second time he's survived this. Miraculous, really. He's not seeming to put up much of a fight, even when he sees me enter. He's just sitting lazily in his chair, letting the nurses poke and prod at him, not answering their questions or responding to their endless toying of his body. He just watches me, eyes lidded, as I approach.

"Remember me, Ray?" I ask, crouching a bit to be level with him. He meets my gaze unwaveringly. Gives a slight nod. I grin. "So you remember it all then?" Another nod. "Good."

Next room. The British fuck, Gavin. There's only one girl in his room, attempting to push air into his mouth and lungs, then pumping his chest. Sweat glistens on her forehead. She must have been at it the whole time I was checking rooms.

"It's useless, Meg. You know that."

She wipes her eyes, but doesn't stop the CPR. "I can't just give up," she pants, a twinge of desperation in her voice. "Not on him."

"Listen, I know you two were a thing before all this, but Meg, honey... You have to let go. You're just going to tire yourself out. You already have." She finally stops, sniffling a bit and stepping away from Gavin's lifeless form. "Go get some water, and then maybe go help out with Jack. He's not doing so hot. Could use your professional help. Come on," I encourage, leading her back out into the hall. I tell one passing guy to get her a drink, and another to take away Gavin's body.

And now Michael's room. Honestly, I'm kind of nervous of what I'll find in here. It could be a mess. There could be destruction. My workers may be hurt. I contemplate leaving him for last, glancing at Lilith's door, but since there's no screaming coming, I relent.

Lindsay Jones and Kerry Shawcross. I'm not surprised that these are the two that showed up for him. I mean, it is Michael's wife and best friend. Though, judging by Lindsay's frantic, flying hands and Kerry doing everything he can to help, things aren't going well. I start to leave, but Lindsay cries out, "Wait!"

"It's pointless, Linds, you-"

"No, no! It's not! He's in a similar state as Jack, there's still hope, _please_ ," she begs, simultaneously looking at me and preparing a needle. "I need more staff if we want to save him."

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my noise. "Look, everyone has a job right now, we can't save everyone."

"Joel, come on, you can't pull this shit!" Kerry protests, but I've already turned my back.

"Yes I can. Maybe if people come back from getting rid of the dead, I'll send them to help, but there's no promises. We have higher priorities than Mr. Jones here."

The door slams behind me, and I shake my head in frustration. When I enter Lilith's room, I immediately know she's gone. There's only two people, talking quietly as they place her on a stretcher.

"Hey," I say, and their heads snap up. "One of you get rid of her, the other go help out next door. Jones is in critical condition."

They nod and scamper off, one wheeling Lilith out and the other heading straight out the door. I watch as the girl leaves with the body, gently closing her eyes as she's slowly pulled out the door.

A shame, really. Despite going crazy during testing, I actually liked her. Then she went off and jumped into the stimulation... I knew she wouldn't make it out. Whether by chance, or by being killed by the other subjects.

I'm halfway to the door when I spot something in my peripheral. When I look, I find that there's something on the floor near her chair. I walk over, crouching down to pick it up.

A note. Dated back to the day she sat herself down, put on a helmet, and entered the stimulation.

_To Whomever It Concerns (Probably Joel or Gus),_

_By the time you're reading this, it's too late. How I know? Because I'm one button away from what seems to be a suicide mission._  
I know that I've been a bit stressed and overly snappy and maybe a tad psychotic lately, but I haven't completely lost my mind, I promise. I'm not just jumping into this without a clear purpose. I may forget once I'm in there. I don't know. I'll have some sort of incognito device to connect me to the outside world, so maybe not. I really hope I don't.  
This is imperative.  
We're so close to figuring this out. Imagine a world in which all we have to do is put on a helmet, and we're somewhere completely different. No risks. No flip of a coin. Imagine! People could go to different worlds, meet people from all over the place, meet people like them. It would make the universe so much smaller yet bigger at the same time.  
So... That's why I'm risking this. That dream we dreamed up so long ago. It's still alive for me.  
So, if I don't make it... Joel... Gus... Thank you. I love you guys. 

_Yours Truly,  
Lilith Haywood_

_PS. Make sure Ryan makes it. And Ray. Ray is the key to this all. But, for me, please... Protect my brother as well._

~~~

_~Ray's Point of View~_

From the moment that I wake up, to the moment I remember, to the moment right now where I lay in an unfamiliar infirmary bed with tubes and shit sticking from my arms... It's all a blur, really. The colors of the world seem to have bled together and now it's just a huge, sloppy brown mess and I don't exactly know what's going on, but I know more than I did yesterday, so that's something.

And yeah, it's been a whole day, apparently. According to Nurse One. Nurse Two says it's about 11:30 in the morning. Nurse Three is jabbing me with a needle. Nurse Three is my least favorite.

Honestly, I should be more concerned about where I am and if I'm safe and if the others are safe, but I haven't really been coherent enough to care. Plus, I've had a nonstop pounding headache that continuously makes me black out. I figure, if the others are dead, well, there's nothing I can do about it anyways no matter when I found out. And if they're alive... They're probably in a similar state as me, give or take a few blackouts.

Speaking of which, that sounds like a good idea right about now. I think I say goodnight to one of the nurses, but there's just a white noise in my ears, so I'm not really sure. Oh well. I once again let myself be absorbed by sleep, letting the ache slowly slip from my brain as the dark nothingness takes over.

~~~

It's a definite moment, when life slips from a hazy dream to hard reality. I was just eating some gross ass soup they gave me, and then I blinked, and now everything is sharper. In focus. I recognize this.

I'm in the hospital wing. This facility is basically windowless, and the infirmary is no exception. There's only obnoxious fluorescent lights and pale walls and prison like doors and ugly cream-colored bedsheets. If I walked out into the hall, I'd see a row of similar doors that all lead to similar rooms. Except I can't leave. Because the doors have electronic locks on them.

God, I hate this place.

Now that the pain in my head is gone and I'm actually, truly conscious, I really want to check up on the rest of the crew. Or, well... The rest of my friends. Who weren't really my friends before this. Just other guys who blindly volunteered to go in a 'cool, video-game-like stimulation.' Fucking hell. To think it all started with that. To think I was such a nerd I agreed. To think I'm still such a nerd that I find it intriguing even now. Dangerous and dumb and I never want to do it again, but still... intriguing.

And I know the odds weren't exactly the greatest, but hey, 50/50. Maybe they all made it...? I hope they all made it. Obviously. Fuck. Michael- Michael better have made it. I will murder him if he's dead. Somehow. I will, I swear. And Geoff, too, the old bastard. Fucking, Jack. Gavin. For god's sake, _Ryan_ , with his lovely/scary/awesome/terrifying wife and two glorious children and his nerdy tech job and- and- and I don't even _know_ him. I know about him, but... What's his favorite color? Movie? Song? Does he even like music? Did he dance like a typical white dad at his wedding? Does he frequently wear typical white dad shoes? I wonder what makes him laugh until he hurts. Smile until it reaches his eyes. Cry until he's got no tears left to shed.

To be completely honest, I've never been so scared to find out. To meet him again, and fall just the same. Except this time around, he won't fall back. Not for me. Not with what he has. Some selfish part of me fantasizes of him leaving his wife, having an epiphany, realizing he's actually in love with me. Life just doesn't happen that way, though. It's too cruel for me to think of anyways. I couldn't do that. He never could.

Am I just the loner of us? The only one without a home to return to? Because I don't. Not any more. I remember my last girlfriend- remember her breaking up with me the day before the stimulation. Over the phone. Over _text_. Said that ever since I left for the facility, she started cheating. Her boyfriend would be moving in. I'd have to move my shit out. I thought it didn't matter. I thought I'd be dead. I was just as much of a depressed fuck as I was in the stimulation.

So where do I go now? If they even let me out of here, there is nothing left for me. Parents died in a car crash, girlfriend kicked me out, never had a real job, never had real friends. Everyone I've met here probably wouldn't be willing to take me in. They'd want to spend time with their families and get as far away from me- and everyone else- as possible.

Maybe... Maybe it's better this way. No one to love, and no one to love me. Distant. Keep everyone ten feet from my heart, and keep Ryan even further.

I'm not sure what changed in me. I mean, sure, I had Tina before all this, but that was different somehow. Well, obviously different, since Ryan's a dude- never expected that, either, believe me. On a deeper level, though, Tina and I weren't actually... In love. Even now, I hate the word love. Makes me feel weird and kind of afraid. I threw it around like it meant nothing with Tina, but with Ryan- I never even got to say it, yet I meant it and felt it more than I ever did before. I didn't even believe in love! There was just pretending to care more than you actually do, and then sex. That's all relationships seemed like to me. Then Ryan came along, and he fucked me alright- fucked me up, that is. Within the first words I was enraptured. I actually enjoyed learning about him and being near him. We hardly touched, kissed... What, two, three times? And I was falling faster than Lucifer fell from grace.

I feel like I've been cursed by him, and unlike in fairytales, nothing can lift it.

The next time the nurse comes in, she seems aware of my state of clarity, and asks, "How are you? Do you need anything?"

I just shake my head. "I just want to go home."

For a moment, there's sympathy in her eyes, but she looks away. "Soon enough, dear. It should only be a day or two now that you're feeling better. Click the call button if you need me."

"Wait," I say, and she pauses, hand on the doorknob. "Who... Who made it?"

"Uh... Geoff, Ryan, and Michael. Jack almost did, but unfortunately, we lost him lost night." My heart gives a painful squeeze. "Michael's not much better than Jack was. We're trying everything we can. That's all I'm allowed to disclose." She pushes out of the door, closing it behind her quickly.

I don't let myself think about Gavin or Lilith or Jack or even Geoff and Ryan. No. Their conditions are black and white. Dead or alive. Michael, though...

_Dammit, Michael, you bastard, you better pull through._


	19. I Loved and I Loved and I Lost You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Hurts Like Hell by Fleurie

"Hey, Michael."

Silence.

"I just wanted to talk to you."

Nothing.

"I don't know if you remember, but you have a wife. Lindsay. She's, uh... She's about two months pregnant. I don't know if you knew that before the stimulation started a month ago, but... Anyways, wife and kid, man. They kind of need you. So don't be a dick and die, because that's not cool."

Pause.

"We weren't friends before this. Didn't even know each other. All of our history was a lie. But our friendship wasn't. I'll miss you. Don't miss me, though. I'm not worth missing. I just needed to say goodbye. So..."

Deep breath.

"Goodbye, Michael."

~~~

"You just need to answer a few questions, be checked over by the nurses one last time, vow silence, and you'll be all set," Joel promises, chewing on the end of his pen and swaying slightly in his desk chair.

"I'm not... Trapped here? We can go home? With just a vow of silence? What-?"

"Remember, Ray, what Lilith told you was not true. We didn't force you into this, we're not secretly working for the government- they actually shut us down after hearing what happened- and this was not for mind control," he assures me, and I nod as I recall. "We never anticipated that amount of risk. We just wanted to make something good for people. Something fun. It was just a dream."

I relax into my chair again. Joel's actually not the bad guy here. No one is, really. Mistakes were made. The stimulation drove Lilith mad. Things went bad. I get it.

"Alright. Ready for questioning? This is more for the government's sake than ours. Answer as honestly as you can. It, uh... Decides whether or not we'll be punished."

"Shoot."

"In what ways would you say this stimulation negatively effected you?"

This question is actually harder than it would seem. Like I said, I didn't really change in the stimulation. It was more... "Well, for one, it made my girlfriend cheat on me," I say, but in a joking tone. He writes it anyways. "Before this, I was actually just the same as I am now, and the same as I was in the stimulation. Except, you know, I wasn't a murderer. That's all, really."

"Alright. Speaking of being a murderer, did the stimulation give you the urge to commit crime even after waking and gaining your memories back?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "God, no. It would terrify me. I had two lives in the stimulation. I only have one out here. Besides, I wasn't that big a fan of it in the stimulation, either. Why do you think I tried to kill myself so many times?"

Joel's expression, previously amused, slips into something more somber. "Ah, yes. Your suicide attempts. Ray, this is probably the most important question to answer honestly. Do you still feel suicidal, and did you feel suicidal before the stimulation as well?"

I chew my bottom lip for a moment, twisting my hands in my lap. "You know... I was, and I wasn't. I guess that was one negative part of the stimulation. It drove me to that point. I had felt it before, but never acted on it, never even thought about it."

"And now?"

"Now that I realize that I have the balls to do it... I don't want to. I do, however, want to go home and get away from people for a while, because I'm mentally tired. But not suicidal, no."

He smiles at me. "Good. Last question. In what ways would you say this stimulation positively effected you?"

I smile, too, though more woefully. "I used to think there had been nothing good about that situation at all, really..."

"But...?"

"But then I realize that, in actuality, a lot of good came from it. I didn't have friends before this, you know. I didn't expect to make friends when signing up, but I did. Even though my friendships were fake, I'm still glad I had them while I did. Then there was Ryan, of course..." I feel my cheeks flush slightly, but I can't find it in me to care. "Despite there being bad times, there were fun times and crazy times and times when I was sure I was the happiest I could ever be. I felt more alive than I do now, or did before. So, that's what was good about it."

"Thank you, Ray."

"No, Joel. Thank _you_."

His smile turns into a grin. "Now, just sign this oath, we'll give you a checkup, and take you home."

My smile fades. "Oh. About that-"

"It's okay, Ray, we know your situation. We've set up a temporary living for you until you get back on your feet."

I sigh in relief, grabbing a pen off the desk and signing the paper he slides towards me.

I can finally get away and take a break.

~~~

They drive me to a neat little apartment complex after giving me a bottle of ibuprofen in case I get a headache. When I arrive, unlocking the door to my place on the top floor, there are two suitcases and a couple of grocery bags already inside.

"Sorry, I can't really stick around," Kerry- one of Michael's friends, I remember- apologizes. "Gotta get back to work and all."

"Nah, man, go ahead. Thanks for taking me here. I think I need to just be alone for a few days, anyways."

"Yeah, sure. Make yourself at home. See you."

When he's gone, I immediately wander, find the bedroom, and flop down on my back.

So.

This is the real world.

These are my real thoughts.

Time seems slower, somehow. The sun sets at a crawl. Night creeps along slowly. I don't move. I don't sleep. I don't know why, but there's something about staying up all night that makes me feel... Weird. Nostalgic, maybe? Just weird. And that 5 am morning glow. All pale blue. Traffic sounds from below. Early commuters impatient on their way to work.

I wait until the sun is over the horizon to sleep.

~~~

_~Ryan's Point of View~_

"We'll have to keep you for a few more days."

I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean? You said everyone else already got to go home. Why can't I leave, too?"

The woman looks down, sitting in the chair next to the bed I sit on. "Ryan, you hardly remember anything before this place. We can't just let you out into the world. Can't just place you in your home with your wife and children when you don't even know them any more."

"Didn't Ray get temporary housing? Why can't I go there?"

"He remembers. The only reason he's there is because he has nowhere else to go," she explains gently, though I hear the underlying frustration. "If you still can't remember after a bit of treatment and mental exercise, well... We'll figure something out."

"Ray and I are- we're close. I can stay with him. I'll come back for testing. I don't want to be here."

"Ray wants to be alone."

"But- I mean, we can _ask_ him-"

"Ryan!" She finally snaps, and I blink, closing my mouth. She's looking up at me again. There are tears in her eyes. "I'm saying no because I don't want you to go. I want you to remember. I need you to." She breathes sharply in a small sob. " _I'm your wife_."

I wish there was something. Anything at all. A movie moment, where suddenly, all the memories come rushing back.

They don't.

This woman in front of me, she's still faceless. Nameless. And kids- kids _plural_. With her. _Our_ children. But I can't even remember them. I feel awful about it, but there's nothing I can even do. I can't just gain every feeling back. It's just missing, yeah, but to me, it didn't happen. I can't force myself to-to just... Slip back into a picket fence life when all I know is the exact opposite.

"I-I'm..." I flounder, searching her face, struggling for a memory, a name, a favorite color- anything, dammit. "I'm sorry, but I can't-"

"I know," she says quietly, going to place a hand on my arm, maybe for comfort, but she immediately pulls it away. "Sorry. I'll, uh... Leave you for a... I'll..." She stands up abruptly, jogging from the room, tears spilling from her eyes. The eyes I don't remember.

There's a pain in my heart, a pain for her, but I'm so conflicted. Me right now, well, I don't know if I want to remember, but if I was my old self, I'd probably be screaming at me to remember.

I drop back onto the bed, covering my face with my hands. I'm not going to force myself to remember or to not remember. If it comes to me, it comes to me. Cross that bridge when I get there.

~~~

She doesn't come back.

I work with one of the nurses for a few days, doing dumb little games go exercise my memory, but it's all lost on me. Apparently Geoff is the same way, too. They say he's made more progress than me, though, and that when his wife came in, he recognized her at least. Didn't remember getting married, but knew who she was and knew he loved her.

Michael remembers it all, but that doesn't mean he still wasn't heartbroken over Gavin. Lindsay was there for him, though. He's distracted by her and the pregnancy and he's home now. Geoff's going home tomorrow. I go home in three days. Or, maybe not home, but... Somewhere that's not here. I don't even know what home is any more.

I wait until the next day at breakfast to say anything. "Can I get a phone call?"

Joel laughs. "What do you think this is, a prison? Of course. Your cell phone has been in the drawer in your room the whole time, Ry. You can take the morning off, go do what you gotta do."

I let out a breath. "Thanks." I finish breakfast quickly, hurrying back to my room in the infirmary. Low and behold, there it is, my phone just sitting in the drawer of the bedside table. Scrolling through my contacts, though, I find that I don't have the number I need. I end up dialing Geoff.

"Hello?" He answers, voice sounding genuinely happy. There's laughter in the background.

"Hey, uh, Ryan here. Sorry to bother you..."

"No, no, it's fine, buddy! You sound upset, what's up?"

"Ah, well, I don't know if they told you, but they're keeping me here for a few days extra. I was just trying to get in contact with everyone. Specifically... Ray, though," I admit.

"Shit, man, I don't have his number. I'd try Michael if I were you. He's all recovered and home now, I think."

"Yeah, I heard he's doing good. What about you? You good?" I ask conversationally, though I'm anxious to talk to Ray.

"Ry, man, I am wonderful. How's that memory coming along?"

I chuckle quietly. "It's not coming at all, actually. I'll be okay, though. Seems like you're busy, I won't hold you from your fun," I insist.

"The crew should get together after we're all out and back on our feet, you know?"

I don't think it's a great idea, but I agree anyway. "Yeah, sounds good! I'll keep in contact. See you, Geoff."

"Bye, Ryan."

I hang up, glad to have talked to him, but groaning over the fact that I'd have to call Michael and possibly some other people just to get to Ray.

Well, at least I got the morning off.

~~~

_~Ray's Point of View~_

I'm not entirely sure how I got here. My feet just took me where I needed to go, I guess. Now that I'm here, though, I know I didn't come for any certain purpose other than to think. That's all.

There are a surprising number of rivers in Texas. The state is practically tiger striped with them. In fact, the Colorado River runs right through Austin, our capital and what happens to be my home city.

Some old bridge. A bit out of the way, a bit in the middle of nowhere, but just the place I'd want to be. It's old and it looks unsafe and no one really goes here, but I like it. There's only a thin strip of the river beneath it, shallow and rocky, nothing like the bridge from Los Santos.

Perfect.

The only thing ruining the crisp stillness of the air is the buzzing of my phone in my pocket.

I'd forgotten I even had a phone until Joel handed it to me before I left. I didn't really want it, but what was I supposed to do, leave it there? It's been ringing all morning, but I can't bring myself to answer. The caller ID is unknown, and it's an unfamiliar area code. The endless vibrating is starting to get obnoxious, though, and with just two hours of sleep in me, it comes to a point where I consider throwing it in the river.

Instead, however, I be civilized and answer it.

"Hell-"

"I've been calling _all morning_."

I stay silent for a moment, letting myself recognize the voice and sink in the words it speaks. Maybe I _should_ throw my phone in the river.

"I know."

"You weren't answering."

"I know."

"...Are you- Are you okay?"

I laugh humorlessly, studying the stormy morning sky. "Peachy. Though, if you knew where I was, you might not think so."

I hear his breath catch. "What does that mean? Where are you? Ray, I swear-"

"You swear _what_ , Ryan?" I can practically feel him flinch through the phone when I snap his name. That's not the way his name is supposed to fall from my lips. Yet... Yet it did.

"I... Ray..."

"Stay away from me. Don't call me. Don't think about me. Don't come looking for me. You don't need me, Ry." I hear my voice growing softer as I speak, slumping further against the railing of the bridge. "You don't need me."

"You don't know what I need-"

"Yeah, but I know what your wife needs. What your kids need. And it's you. _Without me_."

"Ray, I still... I can't let go of you like this," he begs, and fuck, he better not. He better not say it. Not now. Not out here, where everything is real, and everything counts, and there are no second chances. It all matters. "I love you." Or maybe.... Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe that's the problem. "I love you, Ray." We all die in the end. "I love you." We all do what's necessary, not what's wanted. "I love you." We all mean nothing in the long run. Every word. "I love you." Every breath. "I love-" _Nothing._

My phone makes a dull splash as it hits the water, and it's shallow enough that it shatters on the rocks.

And it's not fair. Not fair because-

"I love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Note:
> 
> 1) The reason Ryan had a different area code is because he's from Georgia. Remember?
> 
> 2) So, I should have cleared this up a while ago, but let's review the map of the Stimulation.  
> Los Santos, in my story, was like the southern region of Texas, if Texas wasn't attached to Mexico and was all just ocean after. All the other states were still there (ie, why Ryan had the whole Vagabond implanted memories of traveling through the states)
> 
> That's all.
> 
> Until the next chapter :)


	20. Your Hands and Lips Still Know Their Way Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extremely vanilla smut. Literally, like, it's not even smut, it's so lame, but it's there, so just a warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Talk Me Down by Troye Sivan  
> Another note: Troye's new album, Blue Neighbourhood, is absolutely incredible. I really recommend listening to it. That's all.

The words are out there. I said them. I meant them. It was probably my only chance to do so. Yet no one heard. Not a stranger, not a friend, not even the person the words were meant for.

I feel sick.

He doesn't know.

He doesn't know I said them back.

He thinks that I don't...

He thinks I just...

I rest my head on the frail wooden railing of the bridge, tugging on my hair with my hands.

I fucked up.

One of my hands leave my head, curling into a tight fist. I slam it down on the railing once. Then twice. Again and again, each time only growing more frustrated. The old wood pricks at my skin, but I can't stop. I fucked up. I fucked up. I-

I'm... Falling.

The wood had given beneath my pounding fist, it was so old and rotten, and now I'm falling.

All I can manage to do is curl up before my body hits the ground hard, hundreds of rockes digging into me. The thin layer of water around me is tinted rust red. My head is swimming. The shards of my phone are mere feet from me. I can't feel my body, but I know it's bleeding. I can't feel my head, but I know I've hit it bad.

With the arm that's not crushed beneath me, I push myself onto my back, shaking with the effort in my scared and shocked limbs. The bridge looks a lot higher than it did when I was up there looking down.

I close my eyes, focusing on the feel of the water around me. If I let my imagination go, I could almost believe I'm back there. Back then. Michael by my side, out cold but alive. Saved by a pair of baby blue eyes and soft blonde hair.

But that was a stimulation. Such a smaller world. No fallen angel is coming to save me now.

And this time, I'm all alone.

This bridge couldn't be any more out of the way. Who knows how long it'll take for someone to find me. If they find me at all. Who would even go looking?

Ah, that's right...

No one.

Begrudgingly- and with much strain- I force myself over onto my hands and knees. My left arm immediately gives out on me, sending a throb of pain up my arm. I balance on my shaking right arm, rocks stabbing at my palm. One foot below me. The other. I'm crouched now, teeth gritted against the ache in my bones. I wouldn't be surprised if my left side was all just one giant bruise.

Shivering, I finally stand upright, cradling my useless arm to my stomach. I give my phone one last look, partly mad at myself for destroying it, but partly glad as well.

I trudge through the water, which barely reaches my ankles, and then up a gentle slope. I don't walk away from the bridge. I walk back on it.

See, that's just the thing about facing my own mortality. The initial adrenaline. The pain. The second chance, which I now turn down. It's addictive, falling and not knowing whether you'll live or you'll die. Not caring.

I go back to the break in the railing. Grip the jagged edge as I lean over. Yeah. Still looks shorter from up here. I know now, though.

~~~

I fucked up.

That's my life now, isn't it? Or, well... It always has been. Just a series of fuck-ups. I guess I'm prone to ruining my own life. And I guess I'm also prone to failing to ruin my life.

At least no one visits me, which means they either don't know or don't care. It's better that way.

I have a concussion, bruised ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a fractured wrist. Not to mention various cuts and bruises, but those aren't important. They send me home. After seeing that the railing of the bridge had broken, they didn't even question me. Just assumed it gave way. A dumb little accident.

And it was, the first time. I probably got all my wounds from the first fall, and the second only exacerbated them.

So I get off the hook easily. Someone drives me home. Gives me pain medicine.

Prescription.

God, despite seven plus years of college education, doctors can be such idiots sometimes.

Honestly, I'd never considered pills. Seemed like something an emo teenager would do. I'm still hesitant. I don't know how much longer I'll remain stable, though. There's this bone deep ache inside of me that just wants to throw myself off a building, drown myself in the ocean, take these goddamn prescription pills.

Would they even work? It seems like, in the movies, it never works. They throw them up, they get caught before their dead, they don't take enough- whatever it is, they end up living for some reason.

 _Well if I try, it either works or doesn't, so why not_ , my brain thinks.

 _But I'm still scared_ , my heart screams.

~~~

These unholy hours of the night, oh how they haunt me. I feel suffocated. Trapped. Stuck in a rut.

During the day, when the light seems disgustingly infectious and the world is awake, it's worse. Here, in the dark, it's claustrophobic, yes, but everything makes sense again. Usually it's the opposite, is it not? I don't get why it would be, though. I think freely at night. My thoughts expand beyond the façade I feel necessary to keep all day, even in my own brain.

So here I am.

I wish there was some way to explain to myself exactly how I feel, but words are... Hard to master. To harness the storm of a person's thought process, full and in detail, well... It could take thousands of words. I can't even guess how much it would take to encompass the feelings floating around my brain.

I guess I can start with... I don't want to die.

But I do.

I can't seem to find any hope, or any benefit of me being here right now. Yet there's a lot life can offer. I mean, we only live once, and after that, we won't exist, we won't be ashamed, so what should I care? I could do anything I want, and none of it will matter in the end.

Which, actually, is also terrifying. It's daunting. It makes me think about just how much us humans conform to society. Makes me wonder why it's necessary. This general mob mentality, I suppose, has been around for as long as humans have. The instinct to follow the norm.

We live life brainwashed.

I'm sure there are a thousand things someone wants to do, but they'll never do it because they feel that they can't break the order of societal expectations. We dream of bigger and better, but we let ourselves get washed up by the uniform lifestyle. Go to school. Turn eighteen. Start wondering why currency is such an integral part of living. Struggle with jobs. Procreate in order to keep the uniform lifestyle going for more generations.

I'm so sick of it. The politics, the taxes, the celebrity shit I don't give a flying fuck about, _everything_.

Why should I live?

Well...

Because why not?

I roll out of bed, slipping on jeans and a t-shirt. I go to grab my phone, but realize it's not there. Fuck. Guess it's time for a little adventure.

~~~

Riding a bike- stolen from a dear neighbor, whoops- with an arm in a brace is... Difficult, to say the least, but I manage. Thank god, Joel made sure I was close to Michael, in case I _came around, felt better, wanted to talk, you know._

I raise my hand to knock on the door.

But stop myself.

I blink weariness from my eyes, looking up at the moon's position in the sky for a moment. _What time is it?_ I let out a quiet, frustrated groan, getting back on the bike and riding further downtown. When I get to a phone booth, and pat down my pockets, I find just enough for a two minute call.

"Come on, come on, come on," I mutter as I dial 411.

"411, how may I help you?"

"RT Facility of Science and Research."

"Redirecting. Please hold."

It takes a few rings, but eventually, a familiar voice picks up. "Hello?" He sounds tired. Like maybe he was sleeping on the job.

"Gus. It's me, Ray. I, uh... Need a favor."

"What? Who do you think we are, your personal slave-"

"Well, I mean, I figured you guys owe me one after the whole almost killing me thing."

"Fine, fine! What do you want?"

"An address."

~~~

The sun is still far from rising when I arrive to the apartment complex, having taken the bus nearly halfway through the city- and boy is it _in the city_. Reminds me of home, kind of, except nothing really compares to the night life and skyscrapers of New York. The buildings here aren't nearly as tall or as flashy, and the overall feel is more sleepy and settled down.

The apartment seems dead as I ride the dimly lit elevator to the fifth floor. Despite the muted wallpapers and darkened lights, it still feels too bright for this hour.

On the fifth floor, I walk down to door 59 at the end of the hall.

I almost hesitate. Almost. Right now, there's this fuck all attitude consuming my thoughts, so I don't even allow myself to think as I knock on the door, hopefully loud enough for him to hear without waking neighbors as well.

And I guess he does hear, because it's not long before the door is opening, and he's rubbing his eyes, muttering, "Who the-" He looks up, blinking blearily. His eyebrows draw together. "Ray...?" Then, as it hits him, his confusion melts into relief. "Ray. What have you... Where have...?" He struggles for a moment as I just look at him, taking in his tired eyes and ruffled bedhead and loose pajamas and _god damn, I am so whipped._

Then he takes me into a hug.

I don't know why it surprises me so much, the gentleness of his embrace. The bare skin of his arms, exposed by his grey t-shirt, is still warm and sleepy, his heart still slow and rhythmic in his chest. "I missed you," he finally whispers.

"I missed you, too," I reply quietly, leaning away.

He looks at me- really looks at me- and sees my arm and the bruises on my face and the scratches on my hands. "What happened to you?"

I close my eyes, letting out a slow breath. Honestly, I should have prepared for this. Then again... Maybe the truth is better.

"Fell. Off a bridge. And then got back on it. And jumped."

He doesn't say anything. Doesn't ask why, or try to baby my wounds, or beg me to talk to him. Just takes my good hand and leads me inside, closing the door behind us. I open my eyes, finding a humble little apartment, though I can only see as far as the one lamp he bothered to turn on before answering the door.

"Nice place," I comment, thinking it best to not ask why he isn't with his family.

"Yeah. It's temporary. Kind of. It is if I get my memory back. If not... I don't really know."

I furrow my eyebrows, looking to him. "You mean you don't remember? Anything? At all?"

He shakes his head, sitting down on his couch, half shrouded in darkness. I take a seat next to him. Close, but not touching. "My wife came by, but... I can't just... Love someone I don't know anything about any more. I'm sure I could learn to love her again, but I don't want to live with the kids if it turns out I can't..." He groans softly, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "I'm a mess, Ray. I don't know what to do. I don't know anything any more."

"I get it."

"I know you do."

A pause.

"Why did you come here?"

"That day... The day you called me... That was the day at the bridge. I threw my phone. Punched the railing until it broke. Fell. Never got to say..."

He waits, but the words seem stuck in my throat. _Am I so selfish...?_

The answer is yes. Yes I am.

"I hate saying it. Or, well, I used to. It didn't mean a thing to me. Felt like something I could never genuinely say to someone," I admit. "Until now. Ryan... Fuck, I'm... I'm in love with you, okay? I'm sure you already knew that- wasn't it obvious- but I'm in love with you and I don't know what to do about it. I've come to terms with the fact that you're not mine. You have a wife and kids. I can't just take their father away because I'm a selfish asshole. But Ry, please, if you'll never be mine again after you remember... Can I have you for now? Just for a little while? A night. One night. Not even to- to fuck. No, not if you're not..." I shake my head, looking anywhere but at him. "I just want to be close to you. That's all I want to do right now. Sleep next to you. Breathe for what feels like the first time since we woke up from the stimulation. Please."

There's only silence for a long time, and fuck if it's not the most dreadful thing. But then, there's a hand, timid along my jaw, carefully drawing my chin up. "Ray," he breathes, and I have to hold onto his arm, scared I might melt if he keeps holding my gaze like this. All blue eyes and blown pupils and a thousand silent words, until the most important ones spill from his lips. "I'm yours."

"For tonight."

"For however long you need."

"Don't promise me forever when you've only got one night to give."

"Ray?"

"Yeah."

He leans in, and my breath hitches, but he hesitates, head tilted, so close, _so close_. "Is this allowed? Can I do this?"

My eyes flutter closed.

"Please."

He presses forward, one hand sliding behind my neck, the other curling over my waist. His mouth is soft and gentle on mine. Careful. Like he's afraid. I am, too. Slowly, though, the fear ebbs away with the prod of his tongue, and I open my mouth for his, meeting him halfway. It's still so unbearably slow, but satisfyingly deep as he licks into my open lips. There's hardly a breath between us. I inhale as he exhales, sighing and gasping until neither one of us can breathe. It's intoxicating, though, this shared air, this intense proximity, this almost sleepy pace to the kiss.

He leans in further, hands gripping me more solidly as he lays me down, my head on the arm on the couch, his body fixed above mine. His teeth scrape over my bottom lip, tugging and making little sounds slip from my throat. My hands slide up his body, dragging his shirt along with them, feeling the heat of his lean, muscled body beneath his skin. As my fingers drag along his ribs, the kiss becomes more heated, a fight for dominance. With the position I'm in, laid beneath him, pliant and easy, it's not hard for him to take control.

He leans back, though, to strip off his shirt. He helps me with mine as I raise my arms and he drags it off me.

And here we go again. This self-consciousness... I thought it was gone. I thought I could do this. I thought I could stand before him and not feel so little, but the fact that he's all smooth, pale skin and toned muscle and flawless dips and ridges and curves. The fact that I'm skinny and bony, narrow... He could count half my ribs if he wanted.

There's no judgement in his expression, though. More like... More like _awe_. He bends down, starts kissing at my neck, my collarbone, my chest. The juxtaposition of our to contrasted bodies is beautiful in a way I never considered, I suppose, and of course Ryan would see that. See what I have to offer, and not the things I don't. I can feel it in the tenderness of his kisses as they trail down my torso, the gentleness of his hands as they glide up my sides, and the whispered words against my skin, "You're beautiful." It sends shivers down my spine. To think anyone could see me as more than just Ray, just a kid, just a suicidal freak.

He stretches back up, capturing my mouth once again, this time harder, with small nips and bites at my bottom lip. My hands scrabble for purchase on his back, blunt nails scraping lightly when he trails down my neck, finding a particularly soft spot to suck on. " _Ryan_..."

He nips at the skin with his teeth, then soothes the bite with his tongue, over and over, suctioning a dark bruise that takes my breath away in a quiet moan. Marking me. Making me his. Just for now. Just for tonight. The hickey will last days, though, and I know I'll be looking at it in the mirror all too often. When he lifts his head to admire his work, his eyes are possessive, raking over my exposed throat, now adorned with proof of this night. Not only that, but lustful, and I can feel his arousal, feel his need for attention against me.

"Ryan, I-I've never-"

"It's okay," he assures me, pecking me on the lips softly again. "I'm not asking you for anything you're not comfortable with."

I nod, only now realizing how tense I'd become at the thought of it. I relax, slipping my hand up behind his neck, into his soft locks, pulling him down for another gentle, lingering kiss.

I wish this wasn't it. I wish there could be more. Push the boundaries. Build up to something bigger and a little more frightening. I wish there was a future for us.

But this is all I get.

I had Ryan for a while in the stimulation, despite it being a weird, patchy mess. Now, this is it. The last time he'll hold me, kiss me, tell me I'm worth it.

So later, as we're panting and gasping and coming in our pants like a couple of teenagers, I tell him for the last time,

"I love you."


	21. Don't Come Back For Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Come Back For Me by Jaymes Young  
> Familiar? Chapter 2. What Ray was listening to. And now here it is, in the second to last chapter. Cheers.

I must have fallen asleep... He must have carried me.

I wake up in bed- _his_ bed- with my back pressed against his chest and an arm secure around my waist. The dull red glow of the clock beside me tells me that it's just past seven in the morning. The thought of leaving as soon as possible flicks through my mind, but moves on just as quick. Any last memories I can get, I'll sure as hell take. Like I always say. I'm selfish.

Well, selfish to an extent, obviously. If I let go completely, I'd lose all control. Ryan would be mine for much longer than this one night.

Carefully, I touch the tender spot on my neck. He was allowed to mark me in any way he wanted, but I... Well, he's not mine to mark. I need to leave without a trace. Any at all.

It's difficult to remove his arm from me, but I manage to slip from his grasp without waking him. I turn back to look at him, face placid in his sleep, full lips slightly parted, crystal eyes gently closed. I'd give anything to see those eyes one last time, but I can't. Maybe... If I'm careful enough... Maybe he'll forget I was here at all. Just a dream. An apparition in the night.

I look down, though, realizing I'm wearing a pair of his sweatpants, which slip down my hips, just barely tightened enough to stay up by the drawstrings. _Of course_ , I think. _Of course he wouldn't let me sleep in my own jizz._

I decide that pants go missing, it's not a big deal, he might not notice. I collect my jeans and underwear off the ground,and even though no one's watching, my face is tinting pink. It's almost like those walks of shame I used to take from peoples' apartments, before I met my girlfriend. After I met my girlfriend.

I find my shirt in the living room, throwing it on and stuffing my feet in my converse. Looking around, finding nothing left of me inside his little apartment, I leave, feeling even emptier than I did when I first arrived.

When the bus drops me as close as it can to my apartment, I find the same phone booth from yesterday. I pick up the black phone. Hover my hand over the buttons. And I freeze up.

I put the phone down and walk home.

Michael doesn't need me bothering him. He's already forgotten about me.

~~~

Just as I thought. Already looking at myself. At the hickey on my neck. My skin's pallor is almost normal again after that night's rest, despite it being brief. It's the best I've slept in days.

I feel like shattering the mirror.

Alas, this is not my apartment, and it is not a good idea.

I don't know what to do any more. How can I just move on from this? How can recover? _I have nothing in this world_. I touch the spot on my neck again. _Nothing to call my own._

They told me to get back on my feet. Well, I don't know how to do that. Society was ripped from me, and now here it is again, normal and just as cruel as ever. I could return to New York? But what more awaits me there? Nothing, really. I don't have much family, and even fewer friends.

So what? I find some dead-end job. Make just enough to stay alive. Finally pay off my hospital bill, which I haven't even looked at yet. Find a girl? Find a guy? Probably not. My heart is sick of the ache is feels constantly.

I told myself to live because _why not_. Why not? Well, that list might take a while, but the list of why I should live? Doesn't really exist at all.

The question is no longer _why not_.

The question is _why._

~~~

_~Ryan's Point of View~_

I feel him leave.

I don't say anything.

I only open my eyes when I hear the front door close behind him.

Last night I dreamt. I dreamt of a home. Occupied by a husband, a wife, a little girl, and a little boy. Perfect.

I dreamt that the wife started staying late for work more often. She's a doctor, though. That's fine. The husband understands.

I dreamt that the husband started going in early for work more often. Not because he has to. Not because he should. Just because he can.

The husband leaves as the wife comes home. The husband comes home as the wife leaves.

The kids go to bed early and wake up late.

The husband never sees the kids.

The wife starts crying to the kids.

The kids start to grow up. Real fast. Real soon.

And one day... The wife is home when the husband returns from work. And she sits there, in her scrubs, having delayed work to wait for him. And she tells him to get out.

The kids don't utter a single protest. Don't shed a single tear.

The husband leaves.

The husband is away. Busy.

When finally, the husband is not busy, the wife visits.

The wife pretends everything never happened.

When the wife returned home, announcing the husband may just come back...

The kids refuse.

I grab my phone from my nightstand, dialing a number my fingers seem to be familiar with. "Hello?"

"Hi."

"Ryan... Honey, are you... Do you..."

"Remember? Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"And..."

"Do you think-" I have to pause, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Do you think there's anything I can do to ever make it up to them?"

Her voice is quiet as she replies, "I don't think so."

"And you?"

A long pause. Even quieter. "I don't think so. I-I thought, maybe... But with the kids, how they feel, just- I don't think it's possible."

I let out a wavering breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I get it. I'm sorry. For everything. I really am."

"I know. Trust me, I do. Save it."

I hold my breath, just listening to the sounds of her probably making breakfast or doing the dishes or something. Breathing in. Breathing out.

"Are you happy?"

The faint clinking of silverware stops for a moment. "I'm not sad."

"Okay."

"Are you? Happy, I mean?"

I can't help it when my mind goes to Ray. Goes to last night. Goes to the now cold, empty space in bed beside me. Finally, I answer, "No."

"...Ray?"

I stay silent.

"Go to him."

"I don't know where he is. I don't know how to find him. He doesn't want me, anyways. I'm not entirely sure I want him, either," I admit, though I know it's not true. Not completely. I'm just utterly torn. I used to have everything. And now... The two people that mean the world to me... They're leaving. Or they've already left. Or I've left them.

"I have an idea."

"You and your ideas."

I hear a small breath of a laugh, and it makes the corners of my mouth twitch upwards.

"Trust me," is all she says.

And I do.

~~~

_~Ray's Point of View~_

I'm stuck.

A common theme among people with body dysphoria is mirror gazing, an actual effect from the disorder. Start looking, can't stop. Every little detail of the image reflected back is noticed, not one of them ignored.

And that's why I'm here.

Dragged a chair in from the kitchen. Sat down. Stood up because it made my belly get all scrunchy. Sat back down because I could see my ribs. Stayed sitting. Stared. Got a little lost. I regret finding myself again, though.

I could do it.

I want to do it.

I should do it.

I can't do it.

Some unknown force seems to have strapped me down to my chair. Fate? No, probably not. Just bullshit? Has to be. I know I have the power to move my limbs. Force my feet to walk, force my mouth to talk. So it's my own fault. I'm weak. I'm pitiful. I'm a coward, mostly.

I flex my hand- the one in the brace- feeling the slightly painful stretch of each finger. My good hand finds my face, where a gash disrupts the skin over my cheekbone. My reflection winces as I touch it. My gaze travels from that cruel touch, to my hand, to my arm, to my shoulder. That cursed shoulder. The shoulder that burned like fire when a body pressed against it. A deep pain that was the first of many, started by the exact man who would cause most of it. Though, I guess it's not right to directly blame him, because it was the good in him that caused the worst aches. It's only heightened since that first initial burn. Right now, it's at it's peak. No physical wound compares to the storm in my mind, the daggers in my heart.

James Ryan Haywood.

Got his full name from Gus. Ever since, I've wondered about the story behind that name. Not only why he goes by Ryan instead of James, but also... Well, everything. His childhood. His teen years. School life. Home life. Favorite bands growing up. Emo phase? Probably not, but who knows. I bet he was a model. He had to have been. With a face like that? Come on.

I find that my reflection is almost smiling. Almost. A hand rests on my jutted collarbone, the other wrapped around my middle. Even thinking about Ryan makes me self-conscious. Despite his claims that I'm not as horrific as I feel like I am, I find it hard to grasp how what he sees is any different from what I see right now, blinking back at me. Damaged property. Why didn't he just throw me out with the rest of his unnecessary, ugly items? Old, ruined clothes and laughable decorations he used to think were pretty.

Laughable guys he used to think were pretty.

I stand up from the chair, I tear my eyes from the mirror, and I leave.

~~~

_~Ryan's Point of View~_

My heart feels like it's trying to jump out of my throat, and my stomach is churning like I'm sick. Fear and dread and sorrow swirls in the near-emptiness of my mind. All I can think about is Ray, the state I last saw him in, and the state I last left him in. That's the worst of it. Knowing he may be hating himself right now all because of me.

"Hey," I blurt out to the cab driver, who jumps slightly at the sudden sound of my voice. He raises an eyebrow in the rearview mirror. "Do you- Where's the closest bridge to the address we're going to?"

"Sir, if you're-"

"No, no, I'm surprising my... My boyfriend, and I think he might be there. He likes bridges. You know, thinking and taking pictures and watching the water. That's all," I say quickly.

The driver sighs. "It's down a dirt path, I can't drive you directly there."

"It's okay. Can you drop me at the start of the path?"

"I guess."

He makes a hard left at the next intersection, and slowly, as we take seemingly random turns, the roads become more quiet and woodsy. The cab slowly stops at a dead end, where an overgrown path starts, but there's a small sign with a bucket of maps in it to the side.

"Your boyfriend into artsy bridges, he'd definitely be into this one, and it's not too far from the apartment's address," the driver informs me, and I nod, giving my thanks. After paying him and a good luck given to me, I'm left standing at the path, the sound of the car fading until there's only the sound of nature. This really is off the beaten path. The driver was right, though. If Ray's anywhere at all, he's probably here.

I start down the path, which is surprisingly short. Soon enough, the bridge is coming into sight, and upon it, a lone figure standing at a break in the railing.

"Ray," I murmur to myself, being cautious as I walk closer.

His hand tightens on the railing. Did he hear me?

I start walking faster.

He steps closer to the edge.

I start jogging.

He hears my footsteps and looks over, eyes wide, deer in the headlights.

I start to run.

He stumbles a step, heel slipping off the edge of the bridge, arms flailing as time slows, and gravity glitches, and he's slipping, falling, tilting towards the ground below-

And my arm circles his waist, the other holding onto the railing, helping me stop abruptly before I send both of us over.

"Ryan... I told you not to-"

I pull him tighter against my chest, which is heaving in both fear and breathlessness. "I couldn't let you do this."

He's quiet for a moment, his tense body finally releasing slightly against mine. "How did you know?"

"Because I know you." _The real you._

"So you know how many times I've tried to do this. How many times I've thought about it. Yearned for it. Yet you always find me. You always save me." He shakes his head, and I feel his frail body shudder with repressed emotions. "The only thing you're saving me from is what I want."

"So you don't want me?" I ask softly, arms loosening around him. "And Michael? You don't want Michael? You don't want to be happy? You don't want to be loved? You don't want everything, and I mean _everything_ , life has to offer? None of it?"

I back away, and he slowly turns to face me, hands gripping the bridge again. There's such pain in his intense brown eyes. "I do," he admits. "I'm selfish. I want it all." He looks down, as if he can't bear to look at me any more. "But I can't have any of it. That's why."

"I'm right here, Ray."

He glances up, looking offended. "You might as well be on the other side of the Earth. You're a married man. You have kids. You have friends. You have a job. You don't need some annoying, dumb, suicidal kid to ruin that."

I sigh, inching a step forward again, but he tenses at the movement. I freeze. "Ray... My wife and I... We weren't okay before all this. I had planned to divorce her."

"You still have kids."

"They're older now. They're almost ready to go off into the world, and from what I remember and what I heard from my wife, once they leave us... They're never coming back. They hate us. They hate _me_. I have no home, Ray. I got fired from my job when I agreed to do the stimulation. My family never wants to hear from or see me again. I have nothing."

His shoulders shake in a laugh, but when the wind ruffles his hair away from his face, I see there are tears rolling down his cheeks. "That makes two of us."

I hold out my hand, carefully. "Doesn't have to be that way."

He stares at my outstretched hand for a long moment in complete silence, chest frozen as he holds his breath. Then he's shaking his head, feet shuffling backwards again. I don't dare to move.

"I just can't believe you're not trying."

"Look at yourself, Ray. Look at the position your in. What you're about to do. I _know_ I can't rekindle my broken home. So I'm trying. Trying anew." I will him to look at me, but he refuses to hold my gaze for more than a quick second. "And you? Is this what you call trying?"

"I've been trying all my life, Ryan. Struggling just to get out of bed in the morning, forcing myself to eat, getting myself presentable to pass as a functioning person. I'm tired."

"I can help you."

"I don't want you to."

"I need to. Ray, I- fuck. I-I said it before. I will say it as many times as you need me to. You know what I'm talking about." I lick my lips, risking another step forward. He remains still. "I know it sucks. Living like that. When things started falling apart with my wife... That's what it was like. I get it. Please. A life for a life. A heart for a heart. I'll try for you, and you try for me."

He scoffs at me, but I see his shoulders relaxing in defeat. "You know, despite being the most infamous criminal in that stimulation... You really are pure as the driven snow."

"Does that make you gross, city smog snow?"

"Shut the fuck up," he says, but he's laughing now, taking my hand and allowing me to pull him into my embrace. I take a deep breath, feeling like a weight has been lifted from my chest, and just hold him close. His thin fingers curl tightly in the back of my jacket. He's shaking again. I comb my fingers through his dark hair, not saying a word. Just breathing. Just feeling. He murmurs something into my shoulder, and despite it being muffled, I know exactly what he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all stories need tragic endings. Treat your characters kindly.


	22. Everybody Wants to Rule the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've replaced Ryan's wife's name with Genbecause he does not wish for his wife and children to be in fics. I don't why I chose Gen, it just seemed like a doctor name to me haha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Everbody Wants to Rule the World by Lorde  
> It's been fun, friends. This is the final chapter. An epilogue, of sorts.  
> Enjoy.

_~Joel's Point of View~_

"Ms. Haywood-"

"Please, god, don't call me that," she scoffs.

"Right, right. Sorry, Gen. I just meant to ask you how it went with Ryan... And now I'm assuming not well," I say, keeping my voice sheepish.

"Well, you assume correct." I can tell she's fighting to keep her cool already, slinking down further in her chair. "Asshole's the same as he was before. I almost feel bad for that poor Ray kid. Ryan might just break him."

I force a sympathetic smile. It doesn't even matter. She's not even looking at me. Invested in the floor, apparently.

"There's no point in talking about this," she decides, standing. I do the same. "How's our next project?" I freeze, face draining of color. She looks at me, eyes narrowing. "Well?"

"What do you mean? Next project? We haven't gotten anything approved yet, we can't start-"

She laughs, cutting me off abruptly. "As much as I've allowed you to believe you are the person running this company, you are not. And you know that. We're starting a new project. Today." She starts to stride out the door, but stops with her hand on the doorknob. "And this time, if you can't keep it under wraps, you're as good as dead to me."

As she leaves, I scramble to grab a pen and notepad, and quickly follow. "W-What will we be doing?" I ask nervously, glancing around. The place has been dead since Ryan left and the state discontinued our research, but Gen must have called everyone in, because the place is clogged with a slow traffic of confused workers.

"Something even better than out last experiment." _Well that's not hard to accomplish_ , I think, but I keep it to myself. "Something bigger."

"This isn't a good idea, Gen. We're going to get in trouble again, and then they'll shut us down, and we'll probably go to jail."

She snorts, and I just now realize we're walking to the old stimulation rooms. "You might, Joel, because you're a fucking pansy like that. You'd throw yourself at the law's feet and beg to be imprisoned for your acts. But..."

I stop as she does, turning to face me. We're in Mr. Ramsey's old stimulation room. Instead of being the plain, out of use room it's supposed to be, there are maps and docs thrown up on the walls. I take a step back. "But... What..." I ask quietly.

"But I think they'll let you off the hook."

There's a hold on my arms, two much larger bodies dragging me towards the chair. I can't even find the strength to struggle. Besides, I'm a scientist. It goes hand-in-hand with math and finding odds. Turns out the odds are that struggling won't help me. They sit me down and strap me in. A helmet is forced over my head.

I look up at Gen through the visor. "Why?" I ask, knowing it might be the last word I say in this world.

"Because science demands it."

~~~

I blink, confused for a moment. It's a common thing among normal people, and I admit, it does happen often to me. I'll be walking along, just going through my day, and I'll get to thinking, and then bam. I'm somewhere completely different and I don't know how.

Even as I make this realization, my legs still go on autopilot, carrying me along across this bridge, busy with cars and with only a thin sidewalk to keep me safe. Odds are accidents probably happen here a lot.

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, and I take it out. When I read the name, is dawns on me where I'm going again. Just on my way to work.

"Hey, Gus, what's up?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The end.  
> Thank you for going on this journey with me. When I started, I never expected to get so much support.  
> Also, a big thank you to JewelGoldSmith on Wattpad for helping with the idea of Michael coming back and all that, theory of it all being a game. It became a huge part of the story and I think it's a thousand times better than it could ever be without the inspiration.  
> That's all for this crazy ride.


End file.
